"Memory is not what the heart desires. This is only a mirror, be it as clear as Khered-zaram. Or so says the heart of Gimli the Dwarf. Elves may see things otherwise…"
- Farewell to Lorien, Book II
Poisoned paths…
It was as if he was a young child all over again..
He would have terrible dreams, of darkness and monsters and being trapped underground. But he always awoke to see his father or Derinsul sitting by his bed, telling him that he was safe. It was not unusual, his father had said, for Elves to have such nightmares, especially living so close to the shadow of Dol Guldur. Legolas had gotten the worst kinds, in which every night was a wearying battle against some indefinable fear. It became so terrible that the main reason behind his decision to choose the warrior's life was the security he hoped to find in being able to defend himself.
In time the nightmares went away. He had thought that he had outgrown them, but now he wondered if the darkness hadn't ingrained itself in him and had lain dormant for so long, only to re-emerge now when his mental systems were preoccupied with healing his body. He had never been injured this badly before, after all.
Lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling, shivering with an ice-cold skin, he was back in his old bedroom, and just as defenseless. Centuries of training had not made him feel any less vulnerable, had not lessened the suffocating dread.
And as much as he struggled against it, his injured body spoke in a louder voice. His eyelids gradually got heavier….
… and he was back there again, back in that chamber of mirrors.
"Hail, Prince Legolas," said a cold, familiar voice behind him. Whirling around, he faced the golden-haired stranger, eyes of ice gazing out at him from his strange mirror. "I see you have returned."
"Stay away from me!" Legolas croaked, stepping backwards. Glass-rock crunched under his boots. "You are no Elf- you are a monster!"
The stranger smiled grimly. "You did not like what you saw, did you?"
Images that he would never be able to erase from his mind flitted past. "You are an abomination! Murderer! Betrayer!"
"Yes, I am all those things, and more," said the Elf. No, not an Elf. "Knowledge is a burden, is it not? Yet do not blame me for your possession of this knowledge. You chose to touch the mirror."
He opened his mouth to retort, but what could he say? It was true. He had been curious. It had always been a failing of his. Amongst many. And in this case, if curiosity did not kill, it would scar for life. Something else clicked in his mind, and his eyes narrowed. "How did you know my name?"
At this the stranger chuckled, but the sound held no mirth. "You did not know, did you? O how foolish are the young! I opened my mind to you, dear prince; and in return, yours was revealed to me."
Legolas felt sick. "You- you went through my mind?"
"Yes." The Elf leered. "You have many secrets, son of Thranduil. I am an abomination, you say? I will not contest this. But each to his demons; are you so pure of heart?." He thrust out an arm, and pointed at an adjoining rock-mirror. Though Legolas' mind screamed against it, and even his eyes seemed reluctant to move, Legolas looked.
At first nothing happened, and all he saw was his own reflection staring back at him, pale and frightened. Then the image changed, swirling into a thousand threads of colour that blended and interwove. Eventually the colours calmed, and formed into an image…
…it was similar to his first experience of entering the 'mirror', except this one pulled him into it, against his own will. Colours and light danced around him. He felt like he was floating. He could not move.
Weak. The mirrors find weakness. You let them gain foothold on you, and you lose your power to resist.
"What do you want, Greenleaf? Surely there is something you desire?" He could see the mocking eyes in his mind, watching him with disdain, leering at his weakness.
"What about… the most beautiful maiden in the world?"
Streams of colour spun faster. An imperceptible roar of non-existent wind, and suddenly he stood at a bridge to the Last Homely House. Arwen stood in front of him, radiant and beautiful, smiling in the special way she did only for Aragorn.
"I do not love her," he said through gritted teeth, slightly surprised at finding his mouth not frozen like the rest of him.
You do not lust?
"She is the fairest in all of Middle-earth. But I love her like the sister that I have lost, and her deserving husband is the brother of my heart. I will not betray them."
The image dissolved. Strangely enough everything was silent, except for the distant whisper of wind amongst branches.
"What about treasure?"
Gold filled his vision. Glades of gold and silver and jewels, the treasures of the world. Wealth beyond that possessed by any single individual in the history.
Surely he can do better than this? he thought with a good measure of suspicion. "My father once led an army to claim a part in the lost treasure of Erebor, and my best of friends is a Dwarf. Yet I hold both, family and friends, dearer than all this."
Once again the image was gone. Light and colour swirled in confusing patterns. The distant wind was like a solemn sighing for lost things, lost people.
"Very noble. But what about power?"
A crown, a golden throne. A scepter studded with rare gems. A realm stretching over all of Middle-Earth. Servants to see to his every whim. The power to do whatever his heart desired.
The most restrictive freedom of all, Legolas' mind supplied with a hint of cynicism. "You cannot tempt me with such dreams, Betrayer. I am a wood-elf of the trees and sunlight, a prince only by accident of birth. I do not desire this."
He does not know, Legolas mentally told himself as the colours once again disintegrated into separate beams and strands. Fear began ebbing away, to be replaced by a sparkle of hope. He wants to find a way into my mind. He tried to read my thoughts, but I am stronger than him. He is guessing.
Please let him be guessing.
"Foolish, foolish Elfling." Despite being held fast by an invisible force, Legolas' eyes instinctively tried to widen. The stranger Elf, in full three-dimensional being, stepped through the curtain of colour and stood before him. "Pride is always the first downfall."
His body was released. Legolas felt himself dropping, falling through the insubstantial world of colours. He felt an hand grab his arm, pulling him up sharply enough for him to gasp in pain. He felt some sort of ground solidify beneath him, in the form of a semi-translucent green circle. The strange elf still stood as if suspended in mid-air, smiling at him predatorily.
"Do you know what you have just done, my Legolas?"
He wanted to step back, put more distance between himself and that face chiseled from ashes and blood. "What do you mean?"
The Elf shook his head, eyes sparkling in suppressed mirth. "It is true, I could not enter all of your mind. You have strong defences, for a Moriquendi, most of which I'm sure you are not even aware of. But what I could not extract, you just foolishly gave."
He lies! He seeks to frighten me into surrendering. He has no power over me!
That cruel, cold smile again. "Don't I? Your own fear betrays you. You feared me learning your name, but your fear only put it foremost in your thoughts, allowing me to pluck it easily."
Trembling with fear, Legolas' panicked brain tried to recount what he had done, what he had said...
No. The numbing chill of realisation made the world stop for a moment. He felt paralysed. If he dwelt on it, the tears would come, or perhaps madness. He longed for the latter. No…
Aye, foolish Elf indeed.
"What is it you want with me?" he asked weakly.
The mirth in the ancient eyes turned into a sort of hunger. It would have comforted the son of Thranduil if what he saw was some kind of hunger he could identify, something basic. Instead it was a longing only a being unmarked by time could know, a hunger for the world of life and all its components. "Give me your body, Legolas. I wish to feel the world again. Too long have I wandered in the dark recesses of this filthy prison, with no company but that of the twisted, misshappen failures of the Master's creativity. To feel nothing, not even the heathen fire or the burning acid. To live with the past, every moment of wretched existence. Set me free."
There could be no air there, in this world within a mirror. No wind. Yet there was a sound of distant roaring, putting to mind swift breezes in a young summer, of birds and trees and sunlight, preserved there inside the glass. Memory, of-
"No!"
The world was suddenly filled with the sound of shattering glass. As if he had physically been in a mirror, he felt himself break into a thousand pieces. At the same time, the sharp pieces were flying into him, digging into him with purpose, breaking skin and tissue, separating into even smaller pieces that penetrated the very fabric of his being.
"I am afraid you have little choice in the matter." He opened his eyes almost reluctantly, afraid of what he might see. The mirror-rock was gone. Shattered pieces, all that remained of it, littered the ground around his bare feet. Reluctantly he brought up his hands to feel his skin, not wanting to show weakness yet remembering too well the feel of the shards cutting into him. But he was untouched, and bringing his eyes down he saw that his skin was unmarred and unbroken. Yet he could not shake the feeling of the shards embedded in him.
The Elf, back as an image in a mirror, sighed, and he suddenly lost his crystalline agelessness. Though the physical features did not change, in this dream state Legolas could see a little beyond the realm of the Seen, and in the youthful form the Elf was an old, old being. For a moment he seemed sad about something. Disappointed.
Then the winter returned. "You have seen what I can do. I have already found a way to enter the outside world; I remember the taste of your flesh, the scent of warm blood. The one you love like a brother is within my maze. The lady and the Dwarf cannot stay in the City forever. I believe your brother is near. Would you like to know what I can do to them?"
No… He is trying to trap me with falsehoods… He cannot get out himself. I am his only way out.
A hand rose up and reached out to him. Though nothing protruded from the mirror's surface, Legolas felt a cold touch to his brow.
"I shall let you wake, once more. But do not tarry in returning."
~*~
It was easily the most wretched few hours of Éowyn's life up to that point.
Feeling somewhat useless and abandoned, she sat nervously on a chair next to the Lord of Imladris' still form. A basin of water and towels had been brought to her, as ordered by the Queen, and not knowing what else to do she let her recent training in the healing arts to take over. Hands automatically dipped a towel into the water, squeeze out excess water, and wipe it on the half-Elf's sweaty brow. The simple task allowed her to occupy her normally-restless hands with something useful, yet did not require too much in the way of conscious thought, So even as she slowly worked, her mind tried to get a grasp of what was happening.
First and foremost in her mind was Faramir. She missed his strength, his wisdom, and his ability to diffuse the tension in her with a few well-chosen words. At the moment she had need for all three skills.
She was much perplexed by what was happening. Arwen, in that subtle way of hers that Éowyn was beginning to associate with elven diplomacy, had made it painfully clear to everyone that she did not wish anyone visiting Prince Legolas without her knowledge. Éowyn assumed that the wise daughter of Elrond knew something of what was afoot, and six years of experience had taught the White Lady of Rohan not to inquire as to her friend's motives before she was ready to share them.
Beneath her touch Elladan looked to be in deep sleep; if it weren't for his eyes closed shut Éowyn would have thought him to be in peaceful slumber. Only minute traces remained of the grief with which he had woken half the Citadel.
Gazing at his ageless face, bearing the strength of Men from the Elder Days yet with the beauty of the Firstborn, she wondered what could hurt such fair creatures…
She frowned.
Legolas. Elladan. One Elf, one half-Elf. Sheer coincidence? Éowyn was quite a methodical person when it came to figuring things out, and had misgivings about looking for 'patterns' and similarities between incidents when there were none. But her mind had spent too long worrying helplessly, too long imagining what could have happened to her beloved as she lay alone in the dark, to be able to stop herself speculating.
Was Elladan's condition related to the massacre of the Guards and the disappearance of Aragorn and Faramir? Éowyn found it hard to believe that it could be an isolated incident. Legolas greaviously injured, Elladan unconscious, Aragorn and Faramir gone…
All right, start at the beginning. Perhaps it was a form of evil left over from the War of the Ring. The Elf and half-Elf seem to be struck the hardest. Then again, Aragorn and Faramir weren't around for a compatison, and Éowyn didn't want to dwell on how much worse they can be from Elladan and Legolas yet still be alive.
The Elf had been left behind, on the doorstep of death. Yet surely it was significant that he was still alive, when around him men had been brutally mutilated. Men…
Elladan, half-Elf, could have been attacked by something. Éowyn wished she had at least asked what had happened to the son of Elrond before Arwen and Derinsul had hurried off. But he was still alive. Was it something to do with Elves?
Suddenly she got the sensation of, after tumbling helplessly along with the currents, finally gotten a grip on something, though she was not yet sure what. Do not raise your hopes, her heart warned. It will only be more painful.
What did Faramir and Aragorn have in common? One was the Steward, the other his King. If she followed on the line of thought concerning Elves, what if the blood of the Eldar- or possession thereof, to be precise- somehow affected the attack of this… menace? Full-blooded Elf, almost mortally wounded. Half-Elf, untouched but sunk in deep unconsciousness. Two lords of Gondor, taken, conditions unknown.
Maybe she was going about this the wrong way. Backing up, she pondered on the idea of Elves. Her instincts told her that Elves had something to do with this.
Casting her eyes around the room, her expression like that of one trying to work out a particularly tricky puzzle, Éowyn's gaze eventually came to rest on the emblem of the White Tree and Seven Stars embroidered on the livery of the King's Guard. So focused was she on her mental pondering that it took her several minutes- with the aid of the wet towel dripping water onto her dress as it was clutched, forgotten, on her lap- to fully register what she was seeing. It was actually Elladan's uniform- Aragorn's foster brothers had insisted on being honorary Guards so that they could have something to do during their frequent stays in the City- but this was only a whispered fact at the back of her mind.
Tall ships and tall Kings
Three times three...
... Seven Stars and Seven Stones
And one White Tree.
The words seemed to flow out of her mouth. "And the first King of Númenor was Elros, called Tar-Minyataur, brother of Elrond of Imladris. From his house was descended Elendil, first High-King of Gondor and Arnor, and from Elendil came the Kings and Stewards of the North and South Kingdoms thereafter."
~*~
"You do not seem much surprised to see me."
Gimli blinked. "You have been in my dreams for three months." It wasn't an accusation, or even a question. Merely a statement.
He laughed, a great heart-warming sound that somehow carried with it the shimmer of underground gems and the singing of birds in great trees. "My sister saw this also, it seems," he said, shaking his golden head ruefully. "I never thought I would see the day a Naugrim would love one of the Eldar more than a heap of gold, or abandon his mine because of Elven dreams."
Gimli couldn't help smiling at that. "Yes, neither did I," he said softly. "Yet I am still a Dwarf. My treasures are simply different to that of the rest of my kin. But I am no less protective of them than a Dwarf-king would be of his." He sighed. "And as with treasure there seems to be a price to pay for my love of it, and methinks that this price is more perilous than my kin's lust of gold. The Eldar have given this Naugrim a special sight, for he can now see into the hearts and minds of others keener than even the lesser Men of Gondor. But the children of Aulë do not know what to make of such talents."
The Elf smiled kindly at him. For some reason Gimli was reminded of Elrond of Rivendell, who welcomed good people of all Races into his home. "A gift, perhaps? For 'tis a gift, Master Gimli, though one that would grow heavy by the years,"
"This I know already. But now my friend- the chief of my treasures, you might say- suffers, and I will not sit by and watch."
A hint of sadness entered the Elf's smile. "Yet there is little you can do. For this, he has to discover his own strength. Do not worry overmuch- he has faced something similar before, though this time his foe is older, more powerful, and he will have to defy both the Shadow and the Light 'ere the end of the ordeal."
"'Tis a good thing that I have grown used the riddles of the Eldar, though I am still no better at understanding them. Is there nothing I can do, then? No words of guidance, or comfort?"
"There is nothing." The words were spoken sternly and with authority. This Elf was one used to giving commands, and expecting them to be obeyed. "Gimli son of Gloin, I strongly advise you to say nothing. Naught of me, nor the words I say. There is something that must happen." Grave eyes locked into his. "And here is another clue to the riddle: this event I speak of has already occurred."
The first thing Gimli wanted to say was 'What do you mean?' Yet perhaps a part of him had already begun answering that question, or at least had gained some measure of Elven-wisdom, because what he said instead was, "This has already happened before… and you were involved, weren't you? Perhaps…when you were still alive?"
The Elf looked very surprised at this. Sapphire eyes shone with an inner fire, as he seemed to regard Gimli in a very different light. "I deem that you deserve the title of Elf-friend more than many who have been granted it. You speak with the frankness of a Dwarf, yet your mind has become as subtle as an Elf's. Yes, to your question. And as I led events before, so must you guide them now. Listen carefully now, elvellon, for I shall tell you my story."
~*~
Faramir stood.
It took him a few moments to come to the realisation that he should not have been able to. But when he did, it had become a sort of low-priority thought, because by then he had noticed the mirrors.
That was his first assumption. Peering closely at the nearest one, however, he saw that it was not a proper mirror but a strange type of rock with one smooth and very, very shiny side. He was in a chamber full of them. Yet another cave, a dry voice in his mind said. But most of him was caught up in a strange mixture of awe at the vast collection of 'mirrors' and an apprehensive unsettled feeling that made the hair at the back of his neck stand up on end.
He was about to give voice to his wonder when he noticed that one of the 'mirrors' did not reflect him, as it ought.
Instead it reflected Legolas, standing fair and strong in his usual Lord of Ithilien garb. He was kneeling on the rocky floor, with his back mostly to Faramir, bent over a strange slab of rock. One hand seemed to be clutching a dagger.
As Faramir watched, fascinated, the beautiful Elf slowly straightened, and leant back slightly as if to examine his handiwork. As he did so, Faramir caught a glimpse of the dagger, and the slab of rock.
The dagger was dripping with blood. And on the slab was a rough but unmistakeable image of the White Tree of Gondor. The bright crimson lines looked like fire on stone.
~*~
With an extreme sense of unease hanging over him and hours to go before his éored was to depart for the search, the King of the Riddermark had advised his men to get a bit of much-needed sleep. After a half hour of brooding he had decided to take his own advice. Doubtless his sister, who had shown over the years that she had a very accurate internal clock, will wake him at midnight in time to leave. Unfortunately even Éomer's sleep was troubled.
The moment he entered the sleeping state that allowed for dreams, he proceeded to go through a sequence of snippets from the worst moments of his life. Learning of his father's death, and the éored not being able to retrieve his body. Only his sword, which was now Éomer's own. Watching his mother fade from grief. Théodred dying in his arms. The lifeless body of Théoden King, being borne into the White City in the midst of the War of the Ring. Éowyn, falling to her death into a deep chasm, and even then remained silent, to be strong for him.
Wait. That's wrong. That never happened.
He was on a horse. Muscles, from years of riding the open plains of Rohan, instinctively tightened his legs around the horse's flank as his hands grabbed the steed's mane. There was no saddle or bridle, but nearly every Rider of the Riddermark experienced bareback riding as part of his training.
The horse's coat was as black as coal, and glossy under the full sunlight. The equine muscles were firm, easily bearing Éomer across the rolling terrain at a speed he'd only witnessed in one of the Mearas. The horse was tireless, and seemed rather to fly over the ground than gallop. Éomer's Rohirric heritage could not help but be awed by such a majestic creature.
Then the Sun was in his eyes. Or was it the Sun? He heard the poundings of another set of hooves. There was someone riding beside him, only he couldn't see through the brightness…
"Not yet."
~*~
Merry awoke, and recoiled.
There was blood on his hands. He yelped, and quickly searched himself for the injury, but found none save a few scrapes on one elbow. Strange. Maybe it was someone else's blood? But, looking around, he saw that he was alone.
Pippin. Elrohir.
He frowned, trying to summon his most recent memories. It had been… night time. He had been standing near the fire, looking through their supplies for something to eat. Elrohir was seeing to the pony, who had gotten a pebble in its shoe and was complaining about it. Elrohir had been saying something about… it was a jest… something concerning his brother, anyway. Merry had chuckled. Pippin… he remembered seeing Pippin walk off into the wood, saying something about needing space to think. The poor chap had been acting oddly in the past few days, and Merry had decided to leave him alone, after warning him not to go too far.
But something must have happened. He prodded his mind, willing it to produce something. A few more blurry images came up. Suddenly the moonlight had faded out, and a sudden wind nearly took the fire out. Merry remembered feeling as if he had had ice dunked on him. Then… Elrohir had a look of terror on his face… someone was screaming…
His head hurt. I'll give this a rest now; plenty of time to dig up memories later. It was clear that his cousin and the Elf were not with him, so perhaps the next step was finding out where he was.
Cave. A bit of green light from what looked to be an odd sort of moss. The cave was more like a passageway. Merry got up unsteadily, then saw that the food pack that he had been going through before… something… happened to them was on the ground next to him. He had a vague notion that he had been holding on to it before… before he was separated from his friends. Looking inside, he found that the food was still there.
The strange things that happen to me.
"Now, I shall start walking," he said to himself, more for the comfort of hearing his own solid, albeit hoarse, voice. "And if I hit a dead end, I shall turn around and go the other way. I got here somehow, though I can't remember the how yet, so there must be a way to get out again."
And so he walked, trusting to his hobbit-sense and occasionally talking to himself to keep away the occasional surge of claustrophobia. After about an hour or so, when his stomach began growling, he heard a voice far ahead.
"Halt! Who goes there?"
Startled, he squinted into the darkness. A voice he knew very well.
"Strider?"
~*~
Thank you very much to my beta-reader, Jen Littlebottom. All remaining mistakes are mine.
~
Summary so far…
For three months Gimli has been having strange dreams. In these dreams he hears messages, possibly warnings. Presumably one night he received a clear warning about the wellbeing of his friends over at Gondor. Dragging Éomer and some of his éored, they travel to Gondor where a determined Dwarf leads the Rohirrim to a clearing in the woods where a group of the King's Guards have been massacred. Aragorn and Faramir, who were with the Guards, are missing. Legolas was found on the brink of death. The Elf was taken quickly to the City. There, Arwen handles matters and decides that the disappearance of the King be kept secret for the present, to prevent panic.
Somewhere up north, Merry and Pippin come meet up with Elrohir, and they agree to travel together to Minas Tirith. One night near the Gap of Rohan, they set up camp. Merry wanders off and finds a strange pillar, and a stone disc. He accidentally breaks the disc…
…and Elladan wakes up in Minas Tirith, screaming. This was followed by Legolas. Note that I have not included details on the dreams. In this story, just as many things happen in dreams as they did in reality. In fact, what is the difference?
~
Author's Notes:
Hello again! I won't try to excuse myself this time, and humbly hope that my wonderful readers and reviewers have not abandoned me for greener, or at least faster-growing pastures. It might gratify some of you to know that I actually re-wrote part of this chapter, after hearing my brilliant beta Jen Littlebottom's *hugs* comments on it.
On the issue of canon, I am trying to stay as close to it as I can, though my sources are limited to UT, Silm, LOTR and Hobbit, so apologies if there is something in HoME that I should take into consideration. If it makes you feel better you can think about this as slightly-AU (or semi-canonical, depending which way you look at it).
Reviewer Responses:
e- I think you're on to something there, my friend ;-) Certainly omens are abundant in a story driven by dreams. And rest assured, Elladan is having his revenge on me by being difficult to write. I tend to write two chapters ahead, which keeps me on top of things. Unfortunately, when I decide to change the plot a little, I have to go back and re-write a lot of things. I hadn't actually planned on killing Elrohir, but… it's something that had to happen, y'know? Thank you!!
chris- take your time, at this rate you'll have time enough to do all that between updates ^_^ Thank you!
Gwyn- *glomps* Thank you! Have been trying to get a regular update thing going, but those who have followed this story know how well that has gone *g* Hope to chat with you soon!
Lirenel- sorry, hope you don't mind the summary being after the chapter? If it's still unclear, e-mail me and I might even try drawing a timeline ^_^ I'd ask that you bear with me though; it was my intention to have the reader just as confused and bewildered as the characters. To make matters worse, right now all the characters are at more or less the same timeframe, plus or minus a couple of hours, but later on it will not be so. Thank you for hanging in there!
Littlefish- ai, I owe you a review! A major, major review! Lucky thing, being able to go away for the summer! I agree about Elladan and Elrohir, but to be completely honest I'm not sure myself what's going to happen to those two. And Elladan is exacting revenge on me by refusing to be written *pokes silly half-Elf* The Hobbits have returned, or at least Merry. Pippin will be along shortly, though you never know when plots decide to shift. Thank you very much for all your wonderful reviews, here and at AmonSul. You make my day!!
Aria7- Don't worry, I'm completely incapable of reviewing regularly. *lol* I think you've summarised the general idea of the story: poor everybody! And I would love to reveal to you who the mystery Elves are, but not even my beta knows. Guess you'll have to stick around ;-)