"'At his command they fell back. "Even the shades of men are obedient to his will," I thought. "They may serve his needs yet!"
- Legolas, The Last Debate, Book V of the Red Book
… is deed undone
"Strider?" Soft footsteps, too quiet for boots. "Is that you?"
Aragorn Elessar wondered if he was finally going mad. Perhaps all this was a hallucination brought on by the endless hours spent bent over his desk; the stress of living up to his people's expectations of him hanging over his head like a blade, the string holding it up growing thinner and weaker the more exhausted he got. He wouldn't be at all surprised if that string had finally snapped. Failing that, it could simply be that the shape of the underground chamber augmented the sound of voices so that some poor soul similarly trapped there with them was made to sound like a voice from the past. Rational explanations. We slipped from the realm of rational explanations a while ago, methinks.
But no, the accent and the unchangeably cheerful undertone to the voice confirmed beyond all audio doubt that it was a Hobbit heading towards them. The day could hardly get stranger.
"Aye." Too high for Sam, and I'm not as far gone yet to believe that Frodo is here. "Is it Merry or Pippin?"
His mind now having moved on to the idea that perhaps he had fallen asleep without noticing- and how could he tell, come to think of it, with this continuous darkness shrouding his eyes?- he jumped when the voice actually responded to his question.
"Merry, Strider- I mean, King Aragorn. What happened to you? Where are we? And what has happened to Lord Faramir?"
Despite himself Aragorn smiled, wincing as his dry lips cracked. "Peace, Master Meriadoc. Faramir is well; he is actually sleeping, so do not be too loud. We know not where we are, nor how we have come to be here. I assume that it is the same with you, Master Hobbit?"
"Aye." Merry was next to him now; he detected the Hobbit's faint warmth and the scent of pipeweed and good earth that always reminded him of the Shire. There was a long pause, in which Aragorn could feel the eyes gazing at him curiously. "Are- are you all right, King Aragorn?" Obviously the Hobbit could detect that there was something amiss.
Apart from the fact that we're trapped underground with no apparent way out and possibly hostile creatures, one of which froze a hardened soldier in terror by its gaze alone, a wry voice in his mind suppled.
Aragorn sighed, shifting a drawn Anduril on his lap. He had put the sword there so that, should anything attack them, he wouldn't have to fumble with the scabbard. Faramir had said that the area looked safe, and Aragorn was more likely to stab his Steward than their attacker, but it felt wrong to be 'standing guard' without a weapon at hand.
"I must confess to you, Master Meriadoc, that all is not well with me." Though it was definitely true- even Merry would see it as an understatement- it felt as if he was betraying a part of him by admitting it. He touched the corner of his right eye with the tip of his index finger. "I am blind, my friend. I can see naught but darkness."
Saying the words, even softly, made him shudder. Sitting there whilst his Steward slept, Aragorn had forced himself to confront the fact once and for all. He had rolled the words through his mind repeatedly. His years in the Wild had given him a streak of almost ruthless pragmatism to employ when the need arose, and in any case it would be ridiculous to ignore such a disability. Faramir didn't deserve his irritation, what with serious injuries of his own, and refusing to acknowledge his lack of sight was, to put it mildly, childish. His sight had not yet returned after several hours of coming into consciousness, and if there was a cure it would not be found in their current location, so he should get over the fact and try to work around it.
Unfortunately, these sensible thoughts kept being buffeted and blown off track by a shrill, inner worm of terror at the prospect of spending the rest of his life sightless. It was part of the repertoire of fears that all mortals had- fear of losing one's loved ones, fear of being paralysed, fear of losing a limb, fear of dying. They were not phobias, but rather ingredients in the recipe of life. To live was to risk each day, each moment to those fears. Aragorn had known this ever since he returned relatively unscathed from his first ever orc-hunt with his brothers. But perhaps, in seeing his dreams and hopes accomplished, he had developed a sort of arrogance, a conviction that the trials he had endured were the worst he was ever going to face.
Never seeing the sunlight again. Arwen's radiance lost to him forever, and any children they had being faceless entities to him. The world remaining in an endless night.
"My Lord?" A pair of small hands took hold of his shoulder and shook him gently. "Strider?" One hand rose to gingerly touch his face.
The unexpected physical contact suddenly made Merry real; the Hobbit really was there, it was not just the voice of madness. It was like an unbelievable dream materializing into physical reality. A loud sob suddenly broke from the blind King, and he realised that his face was already wet with tears.
That broke the dam, his mind drudging up all his memories of the Hobbit and parading it before him in one breathless torrent; from their first meeting that fateful night in Bree to when he left the party of Hobbits, Gandalf and Galadhrim at the Gap of Rohan. He remembered the youthful face, the high laughter that befitted the Hobbit's name, the sheer delight the little being took in the simple pleasures of life. For the Rangers who had spent time guarding the borders of the Shire- Aragorn had done his share of this- the Hobbits embodied an innocence that the races of Men and Elves had lost in their battles against the Shadow. Grief had no place in the hearts of Hobbits; this was what Frodo eventually came to understand, and he and Bilbo's departures were another step to preserving that lost dream.
Thus Men envy the Hobbits for their innocence, as Elves envy Men for their Gift.
Another memory emerged: he was standing in the Houses of Healing, looking down upon the still figure that had brought down the Witch-King of Angmar. His sheer wonder and amazement was further compounded by the realisation that Merry would eventually recover from the deed with little more than an occasional numbness in the right arm at a particular time of the year. How terribly ironic, yet strangely fitting, Aragorn had thought then, that the downfall of the bane of a nation and a thousand men would be an enraged shieldmaiden of Rohan and an ignored Halfling of the Shire?
The six years since their parting had undoubtedly marked Merry's features, but Aragorn could only see through his memories, his hands not yet being able to interpret into mental imagery more than the general shape of things. Thus the image in his mind, taken from his last memory of the Hobbit, gave him a sense that those six years had not really passed. Maybe that was all Merry ever would be, to him; a memory forever frozen, unchangeable because he would not dare sullying it with his imperfect imagination.
It was all just a dream. Arwen, Gondor… I do not deserve the light, so the darkness has claimed me.
As he drew a ragged breath, he suddenly felt tired, oh so tired. He blinked furiously, but the tears had been flowing for a while and would not be stopped. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, had delivered Middle-Earth from the Shadow, had restored the line of Kings in Gondor and brought a general peace to the lands and peoples of Middle-Earth. But all that, he knew, he would not have accomplished without the efforts and sacrifices of so many others. Ever since becoming King he had worked tirelessly to ensure that those sacrifices were not made in vain, that he could accomplish all that had been expected of him.
But where had that got him?
Here, said his mind. A blind man in a cold cave. Right then, at that moment and place, that was all he was. No responsibility, no expectations, just a concerning friend who would not understand the point of the burden he had placed upon himself. He trembled, fighting the swell of emotion that was threatening to burst out from him. This is pathetic! he mentally railed at himself. Self-pity will help no-one! Pull yourself together, you wretched excuse for a King!
, said his mind. Right then, at that moment and place, that was all he was. No responsibility, no expectations, just a concerning friend who would not understand the point of the burden he had placed upon himself. He trembled, fighting the swell of emotion that was threatening to burst out from him. he mentally railed at himself.He batted away at the grimy shadow of despair, and suddenly found himself beset on two fronts. Confused, he examined this other emotion, and found it to be… relief.
How long had it been since he had looked up at the stars and felt the free winds brush against his face? How many endless nights had been spent at his desk, or listening to a fool too caught up in his own illusions about his importance in the world? He could remember Legolas' words of concern; uttered just before… all this… happened.
"You need rest, Aragorn," said his friend of many, many years.
"I have been resting," he responded automatically, with his usual smile. It wasn't the first time the Elf had brought up the issue, and Legolas was not the only one to do so. "I haven't touched a single document during our trip to Emyn Arnen."
"Do not jest, my friend." A deceptively slender hand had grasped his shoulder. "There is a weight now behind your eyes. You are like an Ent that has taken root and become a tree in all but a few fading memories. Where is the Ranger that dared outrun a band of Mirkwood hunters? Where is the man that challenged Elladan to a duel and fought for four hours because he refused to wield?"
"If you would remember, my friend," he had replied with a smile. "I am no longer as young as I was then. Furthermore, I recall that both those incidents ended up with me on my back, staring up at insolently grinning Elves."
"The reason why I chose them for my examples. Tell me, Aragorn, did you expect to win when you began those endeavors?"
"Of course not!"
"Yet you still did them, because it is your nature to wonder if, after all, you can accomplish the impossible."
"I did beat Elladan eventually."
"Be silent for a moment, young King, and hear one who has seen a great many more years at court than yourself." So unused was he to hearing the power of Thranduil in Legolas' voice that all thought of jesting fled. "I know that as a Chieftain of the Dunedain, it was your duty to know each and every detail about your men. It was a challenge, I'm sure, and one that you managed very well. But the numbers of the Dunedain were so that it was feasible. I'm afraid that the same cannot be said concerning the White City."
"What do you mean?"
"You know very well; the twins speak far more cryptically than I do, and you were raised by Elrond Half-Elven. Whilst it is a fine thing for a ruler to manage every detail of his people's lives, it is simply not possible for a single man to do alone. You have a Council of Advisors, yet you still try to administer each and every detail concerning the running of the City. And though I approve of walking around the City yourself to see personally how the people are doing, you could employ a number of trusted Guards or attendants to do the same at different parts of the City instead of walking each Circle yourself. That's just an example. Minas Tirith is running very smoothly now, because it has a wise and kind King, but you are wearing yourself down. If you cannot see the worry in Arwen's eyes, than see it in mine, or Faramir's, or indeed all who love you and watch you burn yourself out."
He had been ready to dismiss Legolas' words, but it was not long after that that they'd been… attacked? Stepped into a hole in the ground to be savaged by some beast and left to die far from the Sun?
Something was thrust between his lips, and he tasted the sweet tang of fresh water.
"… you two look a downright mess, if I may say so, your Majesty, but I'll start on you as I don't want to be waking up Mr. Faramir when he's sleeping so peacefully. Now, I just need you to drink water… that's it…"
Water! Until that moment he hadn't realised how dry his throat had become. He gulped down the refreshing drink, but when he reached up to take hold of the waterskin a hand gently swatted his away. "If you drink too much you'll be sick, your Majesty. Told me so yourself, when we were walking to Rivendell, remember? Seems so long ago, but I remember most of the things you say, especially if they were about surviving in the Wild. Maybe I can repay you a bit for those times you defended us Hobbits, seeing as you're not quite in your right state of mind at the moment."
Aragorn Elessar Telcontar, mighty King of the Reunited Kingdom, was confused in every possible way a man could be confused. His heart was trying to stay on neutral ground between frustration and despair at their predicament, and relief in being unquestionably helpless. His body was crippled by his blindness and his barely-treated wounds, leaving him feeling quite disorientated and disembodied. His mind was in pieces, both unable to properly deal with his blindness and caught in a tangled web from his attempt to sort out his emotions.
But there was just something unchangeable, something unshakeable in a Hobbit's character that he couldn't help but be cheered by Merry's company. He knew that Hobbits were capable of the same depth of emotion as the other Races- he had had many a long talk with Frodo and Samwise whilst they were healing in Ithilien and during their subsequent stay in Minas Tirith- but one could feel that ingrained in their very being was the memory of the Sun brightly shining, of a life passed without incident, of a safe refuge to call home. To a Ranger, such a mindset was alien. Perhaps, Aragorn mused, that was why Mithrandir, the Grey Pilgrim, loved the Shire-folk so much.
Smiling, he took comfort in Merry's easy chatter, and surrendered with some bemused exasperation to the fact that the Hobbit was determined to feed him fruit.
Elladan felt like one newly-awoken from a coma. His limbs were weak and heavy, and even small movements left him breathing hard and his heart thundering in his ears. But his mind was astonishingly clear, despite the intense weight upon his heart. It was as if he had taken a mortal wound, but by some healing art the poison that would kill him had been temporarily partitioned off.
"You do not know how it relieves me to see you in the world of the living, my friend," Éomer was saying to him. "But you do not look all that well still. Are you absolutely certain that you can manage here for a few hours?"
Even though he was the least able healer amongst the children of Elrond (Estel included), Elladan was quite certain that the answer to that question was 'No'. However, he could see the emotions that Éomer was trying to hide, and his heart was moved by the worry and anxiety the King of the Horse-Lords must be feeling about his sister. Furthermore, Arwen was out there also, and Elladan was equally certain that his body was in no condition to ride, much less chase after those two particular women in the dark.
"Yes, I am certain, Éomer. I am the Heir of the Lord of Imladris and I have stood at Estel's side ever since he came to the throne. I am sure that Lord Derinsul, the Heir of King Thranduil, will aid me should I falter. Go, and find my sister also. May the Valar guide your search," he replied, his breathy voice growing stronger by each word. Éomer gave him one last look of indecision, then bowed and hurried out.
So far Elladan had been avoiding Derinsul's incredulous stare, but in the silence after Éomer's departure it became more difficult to do so. He could guess the thoughts that must be going through the Sindar Elf's mind; some of the same questions ran through his own.
Sorting through his thoughts, he carefully tread around the issue of his twin. He was sure that, should he focus too much on the sudden emptiness in his heart, the partition that was holding off the darkness inescapable would shatter. But there were questions that one simply could not brush off.
Why did I not die?
The darkness pressed in on him, but he followed the thought through, employing a stubbornness worthy of his ancestry. The only reason that I did not fade from the death of my brother, his father's voice came back to him, from a time when they were Elflings seated comfortably on their naneth's lap in front of the fire. Is that we were separated by the Choice of the Half-Elven. The grace of Iluvatar protected me from the shock, for it is like a wound, only of the fea rather than the hroa. Even then I fell into a deep sleep, as if one fading.
Elrond had never gone into much detail about his experience, and his children had believed in letting the past lie. But he did warn his twin sons. "The bond between your fea is stronger than any between kin. But be wary; for even as it can pull one of you back from the very doorstep of death, so can the death of one bring the other into the darkness as well. Remember this each time you ride out to battle, my sons."
Therefore Elladan was not surprised he had collapsed as he did. What puzzled him was why he had come back. Thinking on it, he wondered if he had even heard the call of Mandos at all. It was as if… he frowned. He pictured it in his mind. The twin bond should have pulled his fea after his brother's. He had become disconnected with his hruin, but his fea had stayed in Middle-Earth, and instead of seeking the Halls, had wandered first in the world of Elven-dreams and then traveled to a place he associated with comfort and safety- his childhood room in Rivendell. Then something had intervened- could it really have been his father?- and he had returned to his hroa.
"You were fading," Derinsul finally said, his voice soft and disbelieving. "I could feel you slipping away. I had no hope for your return. And suddenly, you wake."
Despite the gravity of the situation Elladan smiled, amused at seeing the eldest son of Thranduil flustered. But the mirth was fleeting; he took a deep shaky breath, and attempted to stand. He had barely extended his legs when they gave way beneath him, and he fell back upon his bed. Elladan rubbed his temple with frustration.
"Derinsul, I must address my brother's advisors," he said, tensing his muscles for another attempt. "We must keep this secret for as long as possible. It must not be known that the White City stands without a King. And I worry not just about the hostile Men down South, but there is another, even greater danger afoot. Until we learn of its nature, it would be best not to put the City into a panic."
"I will aid you, though more for my brother than any great love of this City of Men," replied Derinsul derisively. "But whatever is happening here involves Legolas also, and I am determined to punish whatever had hurt him."
Elladan nodded, deciding that Derinsul's motives mattered less than his cooperation. "My thanks. Which reminds me- we should check up on Legolas and Gimli later on. But first, please help me put my uniform on and send out word that the King's Council is to be assembled."
Faramir's eyes flew open.
The images from his dream were still fresh in his mind. Trying to gather himself, he simply lay there, breathing hard, letting the dimly-illuminated cavern roof overhead and underground chill chase away the lingering horror.
By the Valar, I have awoken into another dream! Having turned his head, he gaped at the sight of an unmistakeable figure wiping at Aragorn's face with what must have been a white cloth before it was used to clean the Man's face.
"Frodo?" he whispered incredulously. "Am I awake?"
The Hobbit turned, and Faramir saw that he had been mistaken. The face was decidedly different, though still dismayingly familiar. "No, it is Merry, Lord Faramir. Meriadoc Brandybuck." Faramir nodded absently, wondering if there was any way to test that he wasn't still asleep, or experiencing a symptom of an internal brain injury. If it had been Frodo then he would be quite sure that he was hallucinating, as Frodo was far, far west from there, but then Merry's presence ranked only a smidgen more than Frodo's on the scale of possibility.
His musings were abruptly derailed when a pear was placed in his hands. For a long moment he only stared at it uncomprehendingly. Then his long-neglected stomach reminded him of the purpose of food, and he gingerly took a bite. The fruit was hardly fresh, but after the first bite he realised how hungry he was, and soon only the stalk was left, spared only because the Hobbit handed him a waterskin. He took a long draught.
Now that his hunger had been somewhat abated, his dream and his troubled thoughts began their siege anew. Handing the skin back to Merry, his eyes sought out Aragorn, and saw that the Man had fallen asleep. Good, he needs the rest. Faramir had been reluctant to sleep first, but his King was a great deal like Boromir, and he had recognised that tone of voice that brooked no argument. He wondered if he should relate his tale to Aragorn, but that was a decision that could be made when the exhausted Man awoke. For now there were other things to be wondered at.
Faramir turned his attention to the Hobbit, who was carefully covering Aragorn with a blanket. "How come you here, Master Meriadoc?"
The Hobbit moved back from the sleeping King and looked at Faramir critically. "I do not know, Prince Faramir. Or, rather, I can't remember. I was on the road with Pippin and Master Elrohir, on our way to Minas Tirith. The last thing I remember is setting up the camp for the night."
Faramir nodded. "We were returning to Minas Tirith also, from Ithilien." Suddenly his heart stopped, his mind was filled with the wind and hair golden in the breeze and stern eyes that reminded him of the sky reflected on a good blade. "Grace of the Valar… Éowyn," he whispered. He could see her in his mind's eye; her face worried, those keen eyes searching vainly for him. Or worse, thinking him dead and shedding her heart tear by tear, until the old winter in her heart returned unending. "I have to get back to her. If she thinks I am dead…"
He had not actually been aware he had spoken the words until Merry interjected. "Don't you worry, Lord Faramir; she won't believe you are dead unless she sees your body herself."
Of course… Faramir's heart sank even further. She would not stay in Emyn Arnen, either, once she heard that they had disappeared. Nay, she would search for them herself, if Beregond and Arwen didn't stop her. Endangering herself. Whatever had brought them there could attack her. "We have to get out of here."
Then he noticed that Merry was frowning, face scrunched up in concentration. "What is wrong, Master Meriadoc?"
"I can hear something… like a low rumbling…"
Éomer's heart was beating like the wings of a cornered bird as he urged his horse down the levels of the White City, his éored following closely behind him. Because of the hour, he could see people lighting up their oil lamps and lanterns and poking their heads out of their windows to see what the noise was about. Remembering the need to keep the peace in the City, Éomer tried to appear calm, as if he had suddenly had the urge to take his men out of the City for a nice moonlit ride. He couldn't keep a sardonic smile from his face, but his helm and the night hid it.
Éowyn, he mentally called out into the night that held more than darkness. What have you done?
, he mentally called out into the night that held more than darkness.They had passed through the Great Gate and were galloping down the Pelennor when the King of Rohan noticed the scent of rain in the wind. The tenseness of his mount confirmed that it was probably going to be a storm. The skill of reading the weather was important in the rolling hills of Rohan, where it was not unknown for a Rider in full armour to be struck down by lightning in the midst of a storm. Nevertheless nothing could have stopped Éomer at that point. He was on his steed, and a chase was at hand! Thus the éored approached the Rammas Echor and passed through the south-eastern gate, heading for the lands of Ithilien.
Author's Notes:
No excuses for my inability to update with any semblance of regularity, I'm afraid. For what it's worth, I'm really sorry to those who have been left hanging for a long time at the end of each chapter, and I sincerely hope that you're still with me. The support and encouragement has been great, and I'm immensely grateful to all those who found time to send them. Hope you like this chapter!
Reviewer Responses:
IceAngel7- Thank you so much! Characterization is always one of my biggest worries, and it's really heartening to hear that readers are convinced by the characters. I've often found that my perception of them changes with my own, so I also worry that the big time lapses between updates will produce incongruities in the characters. I'm a twins-fan, and they're the most unpredictable characters in this fic; I truly don't know what they're going to end up doing. Hopefully you'll stay with me to find out!
Sailor Taichichi Vegeta- Thank you for commenting after every chapter :-D it was very interesting to see a reader's initial reactions to the developments in each chapter. I'm sorry for the confusion, but I purposefully made the plot a hard one to unravel without all the information, and I plant bits of clues in each chapter. If it helps, there's more than one 'mystery Elf'. And Elrohir, as far as the reader is concerned, is dead. However, I'm sure that you've noticed that not all are what they seem. And Legolas is not actually blind… he's just not seeing what everyone else sees… it's an important difference ;-)
wellduh- I agree! I've always been fascinated by mirrors, and the notion that having someone take a picture of you takes away a bit of your soul. This was actually meant to be an adventure story (influence of Thundera, who writes them exceptionally well :-D) but I became more fascinated with the lore and the supernatural aspects of it (a notable influence of Ithilien and Maggie Theis), so now I'm hoping to blend the two. Thank you for your encouragement and faithful reviewing (not to mention reading)! huggles
- I agree! I've always been fascinated by mirrors, and the notion that having someone take a picture of you takes away a bit of your soul. This was actually meant to be an adventure story (influence of Thundera, who writes them exceptionally well :-D) but I became more fascinated with the lore and the supernatural aspects of it (a notable influence of Ithilien and Maggie Theis), so now I'm hoping to blend the two. Thank you for your encouragement and faithful reviewing (not to mention reading)!edeyle- blushes Thank you very much! I hope it doesn't give you bad dreams, though. And as for Elrohir… well, if it's any comfort I'm just as unaware of to his fate as your are. He's my current favourite character though, so it'd be a shame if he was. But I guess you'll have to stick around and find out ;-)
- Thank you very much! I hope it doesn't give you bad dreams, though. And as for Elrohir… well, if it's any comfort I'm just as unaware of to his fate as your are. He's my current favourite character though, so it'd be a shame if he was. But I guess you'll have to stick around and find out ;-)Lirenel- Thank you! I hope you're still reading!
Lady Lunas- Aye, you do ;-) Thank you very much for your kind words. I really don't know what's happened to Elrohir g I'll probably find out just before you do. The mysterious trapped Elves are part of the key to the whole thing- at least one of them is named in the Silmarillion. As for Aragorn and Faramir, the story is going to move towards them now.
unplugged32 (Chris)- Gosh, thanks so much! I can still remember when you started reading g It's been such a long time, I'm so grateful that you're still reading.
Jordy- It helped ;-) A great deal actually; the chapter is certainly longer than I intended for the chapters in this section. Hope you still like the story!