Chapter Eight–Shadows and Moonlight

Rage radiated through every fiber of the Sharnok's being. He was surrounded by impotent fools! Pacing the length of his chamber and back, he growled low and menacingly deep in his throat. Orcs were brainless, spineless creatures! They had the wit and skill of a five year old child! Nothing had gone according to his plans, and the dark creature blamed them for all of his troubles at the moment.

The two foolish orcs who had dared to bring him the unhappy news that there was no way to penetrate the valley's defenses and retrieve the woman were now lying in the corners of the room, their black blood pooled beneath the twisted remains of their bodies. He snarled viciously in the direction of the corpses. It seemed that he would have to do everything himself if anything was to be accomplished and victory to be achieved. Those creatures who were closest to the chambers and could see the black mood that gripped their master shrank back in fear of their master's wrath. Several dared to breath their malcontent and unhappiness, but were immediately set down and beaten by their leaders.

Sharnok paid little heed to the anger and fighting among his legion. Ha, legion. He sneered at the word, thinking back to the time when he had had a true legion and army under his control. With the power of the Caer Dathyl, Sharnok had nearly successfully conquered the races of the world. Lethal creatures, they were, with the strength of 100 men. Talon like claws that would tear any and all who stood in their path to shreds. It was the Ancient's who had disposed of his army swiftly after his capture and retainment. Those great beings, he leered, had herded the demons like cattle, gathering them all in one place before destroying them. He snarled, his claws digging maliciously into the earth. Curse them! They had taken everything from him. And now, he would see to it that these people paid for all the wrongs that had been done to him.

Sharnok continued his pacing, planning and cunning his next attack on the races of Middle Earth. The noise from the outer room dissolved his concentration. Rising up, he swiftly made his way to the outer chamber. A great roar of fury and anger erupted from the very depths of his being. Instantly, all fell silent, shrinking and cowering away from the immense wrath of the Dark One. Opening his mouth, the evil Lord prepared to wreak havoc among his minions. It was the sight of the thick, black blood oozing from several orc bodies that made him pause, a distant memory coming to surface in his mind. Swiftly he strived to recall the vivid details that lie just under the surface. Hissing under his breath, he wondered if it were possible to rebuild that great army of the Caer Dathyl.

An idea formed suddenly, a thought so evil and perfect that his demeanor changed instantly, and he chuckled harshly under his breath. He summoned forward his Uruk captain, giving his instruction in his grating voice. "There is a place, to the north. Desolate and forgotten, you will find there the remains of great trees." He leaned closer, bringing his hideous face within inches of Garnor's. "You will know the trees by their blackness. Bring to me the sap of these trees, all that you can collect. Then, send half of your troops to raid any nearby village and bring me all the males, those who are of fighting age, strong, courageous. I want them alive, unspoiled."

Garnor heard the command laced with that warning and he nodded, bowing low with his hand over his heart, replying, "It shall be done as you say, master."

"Do not botch this, Captain," the voice was soft, malice and blackness seeping through every tone and word. "I will not accept your failure again."

Bowing low, the Uruk captain left the evil being's presence, summoning his commanders with a sweeping fist and fierce scowl. When they had gathered, he spoke. "Lokin, Rishkau," he said, pointing to the biggest two, "you will take half these maggots and head north. Once you find the black trees, you will bring back all the sap that has been asked for." Growling menacingly, he laced his next order with a dire threat. "Do not lose a drop, or I will have your skin."

Nodding the two Uruks headed off, shouting orders and brandishing whips to get the orcs moving and on their feet. "Hoklai," Garnor turned to the deformed creature standing to his left. "You will follow me. Tonight," he said, smiling wickedly, "we hunt men." His commander snarled his pleasure, turning sharply to spit out orders to another group of Uruk-hai waiting in the bowls of the cavern. Armor was donned, snarling and hissing with pleasure. In the gathering darkness, the two groups left the cave, splitting so that one group headed directly north, while the other went north and west, each growling their pleasure at their activity. The clamor that rose with their departure was enough to be heard miles away.

On the plains of the Rhovanion, a group of elvish riders halted their mounts. The horses shifted restlessly while the noise and clamor that reached sensitive ears caused each face to line with worry and anger. A tall figurehead rode at the front of the column, fair and bright as are all elves in their way. He raised his hand for silence to fall among the whispering elves, listening carefully to the fading sounds of orcish feet and armor.

A rider approached him from the side, whispering almost silently. "Two groups, Hir nin. One goes north, the other heads westerly."

The fair head nodded his understanding, piercing blue eyes penetrating the gloom of the night to watch the distant blackness move over the land like a sweeping plague. "They move hard," he breathed, turning his head to study the path they had come from, memorizing it for future reference. At his signal, they began their journey again, swift footed steeds carrying them closer to their goal. They did not stop to rest themselves, only their horses. All understood their leader's haste. Indeed, they shared his desire to reach the valley of Imladris as swiftly as possible. They hastened on, their horses strides light across the earth, as is the way with all good elven steeds.

The wind picked up, blowing the golden hair from eyes the color of sleet and just as hard. His full mouth was a grim line as they rode. His desire to reach the Hidden Valley was two fold. He needed the information that would provide them a way to defeat these creatures, yes, but more importantly, there was one who now rested in Imladris that he had not seen in too many months. For an elf -one who did not mark the passage of time- it had been a long time indeed since he had laid eyes on his child. To the friends and guards who had trained and study with the youth, it had seemed an age. To the sons that rode with him, it had felt like a lifetime. To a father, it had felt an eternity.

They rode harder still, their mounts detecting the new tension that flowed through the lithe bodies mounted atop them. Graver still had this impending sense of doom become. The sheer amount of orcs that they had just spotted and heard had many wondering if Sauron had indeed survived the destruction of the Ring. These thoughts, and more, raced through the company as they drew ever closer to the Misty Mountains and the pass of the Old Ford. It was the most direct route to Rivendell from the Halls of the Elvenking of Eryn Lasgalen. Their goal was to reach the pass this evening, resting briefly to feed and water their mounts before continuing through the mountains at dawn. In three days hence they should arrive in Rivendell and the relative safety of Lord Elrond's Hall.

Urging Sadron to even greater speed, the leader pressed them onward. The faint sounds of clanking armor were still echoing across the plain, but they could no longer see the enemy's movements. The captain of the Home Guard stretched his senses, searching for the enemy in front of them and behind. For now, they appeared to be safe. Smiling wryly, he thought that it was a good thing that the armies of darkness seemed to be congregating in one place at this moment. Though the very fact that they were doing so was troubling, it made traveling much easier.

The shadows had grown long indeed by the time that the travelers reached the place decided upon to rest. They led their horses to a shallow stream, allowing them to drink their fill while they discussed the growing darkness. King Thranduil listened with only half an ear to their talk. His mind was elsewhere this night. In his heart he was already in Rivendell, reuniting with his youngest child after being separated for so long. Closing his eyes, he raised his face to the wind, inwardly searching for the bond that told him all was well with Legolas.

A small frown furrowed his brow as he noted the confusion that surrounded his child. Something was wrong, although it was not physical in nature, and his son's feä felt as though it was being pulled in two. The soft sound of footsteps startled Thranduil out of his reverie, and he turned his attention to his eldest son, Caranthir.

"You are troubled this night, adar." It was a statement, rather than a question. Thranduil smiled wryly, even as he acknowledged the fact that his eldest had the ability to read him so well.

"Yes," the King answered slowly, pausing to measure his words.

"You are worried about Legolas." Caranthir smiled at the look Thranduil knew was on his face. "It is a worry we all share, adar. Perhaps not so much as you, but he is well loved by all our people." That said, Caranthir turned his gaze to the stars. They shone brightly this night, without thought or regard to the ever increasing shadow.

"There is something wrong," the King's voice was soft, little more than a whisper. "It is not physical, more an indistinct feeling of...confusion."

Caranthir turned an inquisitive gaze on his father's profile. He admired this elf, he thought. There was so much strength in him, in his proud features and regal bearing. Every time he looked at his father, he felt such pride and love. As did all of his children, as Caranthir knew. Since their mother's death so many centuries ago, Thranduil had become both their naneth and adar. He made certain that all was taken care of, and he was never too busy with matters of the kingdom to make time for his children. Theirs had been a house of love and joy, peace and serenity found in their rather large, by elven standards, family. Yet Caranthir could remember well the little whirlwind that his brother Legolas had been as an elfling. A certain incident involving the large banner in the dining hall that depicted the battle of the First Age sprung to mind.

Thranduil turned and caught Caranthir looking at him. "Dare I ask, ion nin, what brings such a look of amusement to your face?"

Caranthir shook his head, smiling at his father. "It was nothing, adar. I was merely thinking, is all." He paused, his brow furrowing in thought before continuing. "Is Legolas well, adar?"

Thranduil sighed, not at all certain how to answer this son. After a brief moment, he spoke. "I do not know, ion nin. I only know that his heart is troubled, and his feä does not feel…intact."

In the silence that followed, father and son shared in the calm before the storm. Then, the softly whispered conversations of the other elves reached them, and Thranduil shook himself firmly out of his reverie. Turning, he spoke softly to his mount before motioning his company that they should depart. As they headed once more along the trail, Thranduil touched the bond he shared with Legolas one last time before he concentrated on the path before him. They would reach Rivendell in mere days. He would just have to hold his patience a little longer.

There was a fine edge to the night. An imperceptible feeling of nature holding her breath. Even the night cricket's song seemed stilted this eve, as though one sound might burst the fragile dam holding back an entire flood of danger and evil. It was through this tension that Gandalf and Elrond made their way to the Halls of Healing. Each lost in their own thoughts. The darkness seemed almost oppressive in the peaceful valley. Whatever danger lay in wait, it did so with barely restrained violence.

It was Gandalf that broke the silence.

"You say that their party came across them near the Trollshaws?"

"Indeed. It disturbs me greatly that the enemy came so close to our borders. That I did not realize the danger in time is also greatly disturbing." Elrond's brow was furrowed, a sure sign that he was agitated.

"There is an evil at work here, my friend. An evil that even I do not understand." Gandalf's voice softened to nearly a whisper.

When he caught the sharp look Elrond threw him, Gandalf smiled ruefully. "Do not look at me in that way. There is much that I do not know, Peredhil," a weary sigh drifted past his lips. "So much that I do not know. The very nature of our new enemy eludes me. It was a discordance that led me here; indistinct, faint. Almost a whisper on the wind. Whatever power this creature possesses, I fear that it is far greater than any we have ever faced in the history of Middle Earth."

Shivers of dread raced up and down Elrond's spine. If the Wizard's words proved true, then there was no hope left for Middle Earth. What Sauron and Melkor could not accomplish, would finally come to pass. His sight drifted, past the moonlight and the stars. He knew only too well what that evil could accomplish. It could destroy the most stalwart heart and terrorize the most courageous of men. Or elf.

Shaking his head, he forced himself back to their current problem. "How do we defeat this enemy, mellon nin?"

Gandalf made a non-committal sound in the back of his throat. He sighed deeply before revealing his thoughts to the elf. In as bored a tone as he could manage, Gandalf said, "Perhaps it will not be so difficult as we are making it out to be."

Elrond started sharply, his brows rising with surprise at such a statement. Seeing the look that was being cast his way, Gandalf chuckled. "Make no mistake, I do not take our current situation lightly. But I cannot discount the appearance of these two maidens or the interest of the orcs in their presence here. I do not believe that they would have attacked them so close to an elven stronghold without great purpose. Indeed," he continued, straightening slightly as they neared the doors to the healing chambers, "whatever shadow now lies over this land, I believe that its purpose is tied to their being here at this time. We will have to believe that the Valar had a reason for bringing them to us."

Elrond absorbed this information for a moment before replying. "They may hold some answer for us regarding our new enemy," he mused aloud. Gandalf merely nodded, pausing to allow Elrond to precede him into the woman's room. For the time being, it suited his purpose to stand in the background and merely listen.

The healing rooms smelled pleasantly of herbs and flowers. The lights were a soothing glow in the background, chasing back the shadows of the night. The healer stood off to the side, mixing potions and salves in various bowls and jars. A soft breeze floated through the open balcony doors, bringing with it the scent of lilac blossoms and Dogwood trees. The colors here were soft, soothing. The elves believed that the presence of a room aided in a patient's recovery immensely. The elves here were trained personally by the Lord Elrond. Gandalf inhaled deeply, allowing the weariness of travel to slip off his shoulders.

Glancing at the figure in the large bed that took up the majority of the room, Elrond took in the sight of the woman's pale features and wide, frightened eyes. He smiled gently at her before motioning for Airioswen to join him in the privacy of the alcove. They spoke in muted whispers, so as not to disturb the other patients and to have seclusion for their discussion.

"She is very frightened, my Lord, and her thoughts and heart are confused. She recalls very little of what happened to her and her companion in the glade and when I told her she was in Rivendell, she nearly fainted." Airioswen's distress was evident in her jilted pattern of speech. The normally unflappable healer was wringing her hands so tightly the knuckles were turning white.

Elrond clasped his hands around hers, soothing the muscles and tension from them with a single touch. "Calm yourself, lady, and tell me what happened. Tell me everything that has occurred since her waking."

Taking a deep breath, Airioswen nodded, grimacing at her loss of control. The healer quickly recounted all of what had occurred with the woman's waking. "She was obviously and understandably uncertain of her surroundings. But it was my mention of being in Imladris and your presence, my Lord, that appeared to trouble her the most."

Elrond absorbed this with a small frown. Puzzling over its implications, he asked, "Does this emotional strain seem to be caused from some sort of loathing or intense fear of elves?"

Airioswen shook her head. "No, my Lord. That's just it. I could understand her fear if such was the case. But it is more basic than that. More..." she paused, trying to collect her thoughts. "More like intense confusion and a deep lack of understanding, and this leads to fear."

Squeezing her hands gently, Elrond sought to reassure her. "I will speak with her, Airioswen, do not worry. Whatever the cause of her distress, I will find it out. Has she given you her name?"

Airioswen nodded. "She calls herself Elsie." Her mouth worked with difficulty around the syllables. "I have given her a potion for the pain, my Lord. The nefelai will probably make her sleep soon."

Elrond nodded his understanding. Smiling, he replied, "I do not wish to trouble your patient with bothersome queries and inquisitions at the moment anyways. We will give her a few days to recover from her wounds before we question them."

Gandalf listened with half an ear to the elves discussion. His twinkling gaze was fixed on the slight figure the woman in the large bed. She was a petite thing, barely bigger than a hobbit, with large brown eyes. Her hair hung in clumps around her wan face, a testament to the suffering she had endured and the pain that still claimed her shoulder.

When the two tall men came closer to her bed, Elsie shrunk deeper into the soft mattress at her back. They towered over her, and in her confused state, seemed to be the figures in her nightmares come to life. The dark haired one, the elf, took her hand, his fingers warm against her skin as he slowly eased her fisted fingers open. Strange, but it seemed to Elsie that the heat pulsed from his hands, calming her every fear and reassuring even as it soothed.

"W-who are you?" her voiced trembled, declaration to her pain and fatigue.

Elrond smiled kindly, his tone soft as he answered her. "Welcome to Rivendell, Lady Elsie. I am Lord Elrond and this," he said, gesturing towards his companion, "is my companion, Gandalf. You are under our care here."

Elsie's eyes had widened at the names. Her heart beat a pounding tattoo in her chest and her breathing was shallow. Panic gripped her as she assimilated all that had happened to her and Meroryan and connected it with what was before her eyes. Could it be possible? To be taken to a world that didn't even exist...it boggled the mind. But here she was, laying in a room in Rivendell, and Elrond the elf and Gandalf the wizard were beside her bed. She noted the look of concern that passed across Elrond's face just before the little black spots danced before her eyes. She could vaguely make out the sounds of running footsteps and mingled voices filled with deep concern before she slipped back into unconsciousness.

Elrond was highly alarmed to see the young woman's eyes roll back in her head. To his dismay, she slipped once again into the realm of oblivion, her body tight with strain and her breathing still quick and shallow. He called out to Airioswen and she appeared at his side in moments. "Bring me the athelas and a bowl of warm water."

In seconds, the healer had brought the requested items and the elf lord had crushed the precious leaves into the water. Immediately, the soothing scent of athelas filled the air. The tenseness that had gripped the young woman eased, and her rest became peaceful once again. Gandalf and Elrond shared a look before standing to leave.

"Send for me the minute that she awakens again," Elrond said to Airioswen. He waited for her to give her assent before continuing. "Have you looked in to see how the other fares?"

Airioswen shook her head. "Nay, my Lord. I feared leaving this one while she was yet awake. I will go and check on her now, though." She turned to do just that, but Elrond stayed her with a brief touch on her arm.

"N'uma. I will check on her myself before heading back to the banquet hall." After receiving her acknowledgment, Elrond led Mithrandir to a connecting door. The room that he led the wizard into was a mirror image of the one they had left. The feeling in the room, however, was not one of peace.

Gandalf frowned, his piercing stare centered on the thrashing figure in the center of the bed. This one suffers greatly, he thought. Moving closer, he could see the beads of moisture that covered her brow and upper lip, the way that her jaw locked tight. Her eyes were shut fast, her breath coming in harsh pants. Her hands were clenched into fists at her side and she moaned softly under her breath. The sheets were twisted about her body, as though some deep struggle had taken place here not moments before. As he drew close enough to make out her features, Gandalf noted that she was a lovely creature, with fair skin and dark hair, the color unidentifiable in the dim interior light. Delicate brows rose gracefully over long, thick lashes. Her bone structure was exquisitely fine, her mouth full. Looking at her, Gandalf somehow knew that her eyes would be a shocking emerald green.

For a moment, the sound of her harsh breathing was the only noise that broke the unnatural stillness of the room. When next Gandalf spoke, his voice was a whisper.

"What ails her? I have never seen an orc poison affect someone in such a manner before."

Elrond sighed, taking a damp cloth from a bowl on the nightstand. He wrung it out, gently wiping her face and brow before replying. "It is not poison, mellon nin. I know not what causes this distress and sickness," he whispered. "Her wounds are not extensive. She will heal well, given time. And yet, there is something here that I cannot see. Something that attacks her dreams and, I know not how, her body as well." He replaced the cloth and laid his palm on her forehead. Closing his eyes, he murmured soothing words of comfort and tranquility in her ear, all his concentration focused on easing some of her pain and distress. After a moment, she quieted, her body still tense, but no longer tossing restlessly about.

Slowly, the elf lord eased away from her. He noted the intense pallor of her skin and the pinched look of her features. The shadow still affects her deeply. He had felt that sickening wave of evil when he had placed his hand on her once again. His brow furrowed, Elrond could only wonder at the source of the blackness that lay over her. There was no residual poison in her wounds for the potions he had mixed and given her would have taken care of them in short order. No, this was no effect of poison. At least none that he had ever seen. This was something else. Something darker, more sinister.

He gestured that Gandalf should follow him and they left the room quietly. Gandalf waited patiently for Elrond to give his instructions to a hovering servant before they headed towards Elrond's study. It was a short walk, for the Lord of Imladris preferred to have his books and medicines close to the healing halls. They spoke not, opting for the privacy of the study to continue their conversation. Once inside, Elrond poured each of them a cup of wine. The fire had already been lit, and the warm glow cast gentle shadows about the room. Two chairs with thick cushions had been placed a comforting distance from the fire and Elrond gestured for Gandalf to take a seat before joining him there. A peaceful silence descended on them while each contemplated their own thoughts.

Clearing his throat, Gandalf was the first to speak. He placed his wine on the small table that sat between them, his voice soft in the night as he looked thoughtfully at his friend. "What ails her then, mellon nin, if it is not poison?"

Elrond sighed, placing a weary hand on his forehead while he, too, set aside his goblet of wine. "I do not know where to begin, Mithrandir. There is nothing specific that I have been able to determine with regards to her condition."

Placing a comforting hand on the elf lord's shoulder, Mithrandir replied, "Start at the beginning and we will see if we cannot come up with a plausible solution for curing her of this illness."

Elrond smiled ruefully, nodding slightly before taking a deep breath. "I underestimated the gravity of her condition when she was first brought to me. She had two very serious wounds. One, a deep gash on her right arm and the other in her left shoulder. Both were poisoned and her fever was very high." He sighed, rubbing his temples with his hand.

"But this is not what is causing her current malady, is it." It was not a question.

Elrond smiled wryly. "Very astute of you, mellon nin. No, indeed. This...illness is caused by something else entirely." The elf lord leaned forward, his look one of intense concentration. "There is a shadow upon her. One that troubles me greatly."

Gandalf frowned, sitting straighter in his chair. "Shadow? What sort of shadow is it that you feel?"

Elrond pondered for a moment, searching for the right words before answering. "It is strange, Mithrandir. The instant I touched her, it was like being lit from deep within by iced fire." He stopped, once again organizing his thought before speaking again. "I have never before felt such evil," Meeting the wizard's eyes, he spoke in a quiet, subdued voice. "The shadow spoke Gandalf."

A look of shock crossed the wizard's normally inscrutable features. Sitting upright in his chair, Gandalf frowned heavily. "What do you mean it spoke?"

"Exactly that," Elrond replied. "It demanded that I give the woman to it. It was very angry that I was attempting to aid her."

Elrond watched as Mithrandir sat back, one hand coming up to stroke his beard thoughtfully. Silence fell once more on the two friends, but this time it was ripe with tension and uncertainty. Mithrandir puzzled over the information he had just received. He could not recall such a phenomena occurring, not from all his studies.

Pulling his pipe from his cloak, he proceeded to light it, so lost in his thoughts that he did not pay any heed to Elrond's sigh of resignation as he moved his chair a little further away. Habit had him puffing quietly while he meditated over these bizarre events. A shadow that spoke, that had the ability to cause physical harm to an ailing person that shared no physical contact with it. Most troubling indeed, he thought. An elusive wisp of memory, a meddlesome trace of recollection long forgotten fluttered against Gandalf's mind. But it was gone before the wizard could even ponder on it.

A whisper of breath that was a smothered cough broke his intense concentration. Glancing over, he noticed the pained look of abdication on Elrond's face. Chuckling, Mithrandir hastily put out his pipe, turning with a twinkle in his eye to look at the elf Lord. "I am sorry, old friend," he said, tapping on his pipe to loosen the weed from within. "I am forgetful at times."

Elrond smiled wryly. "I know your habits by now, mellon nin. I think that a little smoke will not kill me," he grinned. "Especially not after all these years."

The two friends shared a laugh. "Tell me Mithrandir," Elrond said, "What is it that held your attention so vividly just moments ago?"

The wizard stood, his white robes fluttering in the slight breeze that rippled through the open window. "I was merely recalling history."

Elrond smiled knowingly, tracking the wizard's movements across the room. "Indeed. What a daunting task for one as old as you."

Gandalf threw the Peredhil a look of annoyance. "I would not be so hasty with my speech if I were you, Elrond Peredhil."

Chuckling, the Lord of Imladris stood to join his friend at the window. "Indeed," he began, gazing out into the night. "I myself have been searching in my books and memories." He paused for a moment, drawing peace from the sounds of the night before continuing. "I have found nothing to aid us in our cause. In all my healing, in all the lore and records, I can find no other such occurrences."

"Hmm." Leaning against the marbled railing, Mithrandir watched two elf maidens hurry along the pathway that led to the Hall of Fire. "There is something," he whispered, causing Elrond to lean closer in order to hear him, "something that I cannot recall completely. A whisper of memory that is as elusive as smoke. Perhaps it is nothing. But," he said, turning to Elrond, "it may be everything."

Elrond nodded, accepting the cryptic words for what they were. "We will have to wait, then, until these women wake. And let us pray, Mithrandir, that shadow holds It's attack."

Gandalf shook his head ruefully. "I do not think that time is something we have in great abundance, Elrond. This is the breath before the storm. Peace," he said, looking back out into the night, "is no longer our option."

Ermm...wow! I really can't believe that it's been so long since I've finished a chapter and posted it. Good heavens, how time flies! I can honestly say, though, that I have been busy beyond belief these past long, long months (years). Internships that involve chemical synthesis take a lot of time during the summers. Fortunately, this summer is a lot easier and there's no family crisis (yet) to take my time. We've suffered some very hard setbacks in our family with several deaths that have really been a blow to all of us. I hope you can forgive me for being so tardy with this update. And I hope that all who've been so kind and patient with me will enjoy it as much as they've enjoyed the rest so far. Bear with me, I know it's slow going, but I promise that I'm working on new ideas and chapters as time permits me.

This chapter is especially dedicated to a good friend of mine whose been so wonderful through all the strife that's been a part of my life lately. Jessica, you are such a beautiful person! Thank you for standing by me when things got hard! Luv ya, peaches! Ok, let me know what you think! The next chapter will bring a few surprises I think ;).

Phoenix