Alatar and Pallando arrived in Middle-earth dressed in sea-blue. For this reason, they were together given the name Ithryn Luin, the Blue Wizards. With Saruman, they journeyed into the far east of Middle-earth, but while Saruman returned to the west, Alatar and Pallando did not. Of their fate, we know almost nothing…

Tolkien tells us 'What success they [Alatar and Pallando] had I do not know; but I fear they failed, as Saruman did, though doubtless in different ways; and I suspect they were the founders or beginners of secret cults and 'magic' traditions that outlasted the fall of Sauron.' (The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien, No. 211).   (From the Encyclopedia of Arda)

Chapter 17 Merionè's Oath

Merionè trembled and dropped his head in his hands. "Forgive me, my prince. I would never want to betray your family. I never meant to…"

"I believe you had better tell us exactly what happened out there Merionè," Cièdron interrupted. Though his voice was stern, sympathy laced its hardened edges as he considered the kneeling warrior in front of him. "We stand on a wire Merionè. There is nothing left to hide for who knows how long any of us will survive this."

Cièdron then dropped to his knees and placed a hand on Merionè's cold cheek. "Mayhap we could help you. At the very least, you can relieve yourself of the burdens that crush your soul."

Merionè sighed and returned Cièdron's gaze with empty, darkened eyes. "I will tell you everything that happened. But promise me first you will not think me a traitor. Think of me as a coward or a fool… but not a traitor. I love your father too much Cièdron to ever betray him. Please do not think that…"

Cièdron bit his lip and nodded. Bratherond too shook his head and sighed softly, "Merionè, despite anything I may have said in the past, I would cut off my own hand before I truly thought you a coward, traitor or fool." His voice dropped so that it was barely audible. "We have all made horrible mistakes, Merionè."

Merionè staggered slightly at these words. For all the years he knew Bratherond, this was the closest thing he had ever heard to an apology for his curt, abrasive comments. The darkness truly is affecting us all! "Do not speak so soon Bratherond," Merionè whispered. With a deep breath that released the ghosts of a thousand years of burdens, he began his story, "First of all, you should know, though I began with twelve warriors, it too quickly became eight…"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Who is the leader of this brave band of warriors?"

Dry winds carried a barrage of sand and dust over the colorless, sleepy lands of the Rhun.  Twelve elven warriors of Mirkwood, beaten and exhausted, struggled to stand in the glaring pale sun amidst the parched gray bushes and withering Joshua trees.  For days they had wandered aimlessly in this beige, desolate land, exiled from their own home by the Orcs who had seized control of Southern Mirkwood. Their minds deteriorated into states of delirium as the screeches of Dol Guldur and yearnings for home ripped apart their souls and lured them into believing false promises of relief from their suffering, evil promises that could only lead to their own destruction.  Hope appeared to them in the form of the lost elves of the Rhun, who despite their strange language, understood enough of the Common Tongue, and even some Sindarin to offer them help. But to their dismay, they soon found that an evil force controlled these elves' minds and allied them with the Easterlings, enemies of the Western lands of men.  And, alas, their alliance did not stop there.  Only it was too late when the elves of Thranduil discovered the desert elves' ties to Sauron for them to escape the invisible chains that bound them. Their minds and bodies had been poisoned by the deceit of these elves and though they were not so weak as to fall into Sauron's rank just yet, they had already abandoned their leader in a fit of despair and delirium only to be ambushed the next day by those of another clan – a far larger, far more vicious clan who would not even pretend to offer them help at all.  

"You will suffer for your loyalty! WHO is the leader of these warriors?" The leader of this clan, a tall, wiry elf with golden hair paced fitfully as the dozen warriors trembled under the ivory tipped arrows of another fifty fair elves with dark billowing capes and fiery emerald eyes. Not one spoke as the tall elf scowled impatiently.

"Afraid to reveal your leader then? Ah well, that is a shame, that is a shame indeed…" With one swift move the elf snapped his fingers at one of the Thranduil's elves and an arrow instantly lodged itself into his heart.  Beside him, an elf shrieked and collapsed to his knees, cradling the lifeless head in his arms.  Another bowstring snapped and a moment later he too fell dead, his companion still limp in his hands.

The elf grinned maliciously at the stunned, frightened faces and his gimlet eyes pierced their hearts as effectively as the arrows. "Not so brave now, hmm? Now, I would hate to have to shoot all of you, for I believe you may be quite useful to me…"

As he prepared to raise his narrow hand and snap his fingers again, a rider appeared in the distance, another of the strange Rhun elves with a dark cape and pale hair. When finally he reached the gathering, he dropped a large, gray bundle at the feet of the leader.

The elf raised an eyebrow when suddenly the bundle twitched and shakily rose to his knees.  Frosty eyes embedded in a deeply bruised and bloodied face bore into the leader like daggers, but his entire body shook viciously from his beating and exhaustion assuaging the threat in the two bloodshot orbs. 

"Another one? Well, well, you are just in time mellonin," the leader purred, his velvety voice mockingly drawing out the Sindarin word. "We were just trying to figure out a little mystery here – who the leader of this fine clan of woodland warriors is.  As you can see, your companions have not exactly been very cooperative…." The elf sneered as he elegantly motioned towards the two dead elves, collapsed like rag dolls in a growing pool of crimson blood, the only color to brighten the naked land.

The captured elf squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. Slowly he opened them and turned, dreading the sight that awaited him. When his blue eyes fell on the ten tormented warriors, barely clinging to life and looking like skeletons stained in blood and dirt, he gasped.  He then followed the leader's gaze to the two dead bodies and let out an anguished cry.

"NO! MURDERERS! MURDERERS!"  The elf leapt up and towards the two bodies, but he was swiftly knocked down by his captor and pressed into the grimy earth. He choked on the dust and dirt he breathed in and gasped as he was violently lifted by his collar.  

The leader smiled and lifted the elf's chin with his bony fingers. "Perhaps you may be able to help me out with this little problem?" The voice was as empty and confident as the boundless land around them.

The elf trembled angrily as his eyes locked with the leader's cold, unaffected gaze.  "Their leader did not come forth because he had been captured and could not come forth! You killed those two needlessly!" he hissed. "It is me! I lead these warriors! You will let the rest of them go now!"

The leader snickered treacherously and ran his hand over the elf's cheek, "Let them go? And tell me…." He paused and leaned in closely to the elf. "Forgive my poor manners… what it your name?" he smoothly asked as he toyed with the brooch on the elf's cape.

"Merionè," the elf responded evenly, his voice as tense as a pulled string with his barely controlled rage.

The leader stopped snickering and leered angrily at Merionè. "And tell me Merionè, what exactly do you intend on doing if I do not let them go?"

"There may not be much I could do, but if you do not release them, as soon as our King hears of this, I promise you, you will have a deadly war on your hands." Merionè's voice simmered with fury and his body's trembles intensified causing his captor to cruelly tighten his grip on the elf's collar.

The leader straightened and regarded the woodelf contemptuously. For a long time, his green eyes laughed at Merionè, though his features otherwise remained smooth and controlled.

"Your King is no longer strong enough to fight against the forces that have already claimed your forest, Merionè." These words were uttered simply as if he were breaking the sorry news to a child that a myth was nothing more than that – a myth.  Then he smirked and bent down again, bringing his face just inches away from Merionè's.  "It is only a matter of time now. If you do not join with *him* there will be no place left for you in this world. You can tell your King that." As he spoke, he ran his fingers through Merionè's long, knotted hair tantalizingly twirling his braid in his hand.

After several long moments during which an inexplicable, acute fear consumed Merionè's soul from the very touch of this elf, the leader straightened and turned again towards the warriors. "Did you hear that? Your King is no longer strong enough to fight. Sauron is returning and all kings will soon bow to him, elven and men alike."

He paused and allowed his words to settle. "Of course, you still have a chance to join with the victorious side…."

Merionè jolted up, ripping himself from the grip of his captor in a sudden explosion of fury. "They will not join with you! They will never join with Sauron!" But once again a large force brutally tackled Merionè to the ground. A moment later a jagged knife teased his throat and Merionè gagged on his tightening collar.

The leader did not flinch at this sudden outburst and he calmly kept his gaze focused on the elves, though he addressed Merionè. "Oh won't they? I should like to hear them declare it themselves," he drawled.

"You! There!"  He suddenly yelled as he pointed at a smaller elf hidden behind the taller warriors in front of him. The guards behind the elf roughly pushed him and he stumbled forward, his shaky knees trembling like rubber beneath him.

"Ah, you look like a young one now… Is this your first scouting mission for your King?"

The young elf, who looked no older than a human teenager, revealed no emotion in his steely gray eyes, though his lip quivered faintly and his heavy breathing challenged the wind's hollow song. 

The leader laughed menacingly at the young warrior. "Alright, alright, you do not have to answer." He then signaled for one of his archers. The archer duly appeared at his side and obediently raised his bow at the young elf's chest.

"Now, I am going to offer you a choice little one. You can live here and serve us after Sauron's victory, or…" the elf paused and considered the other option with a wink at the archer. "Or you can choose not to," he finished lightly. 

The young elf bit his lip and straightened proudly. For a moment he stared at the leader, looking as if he may consider the terrible choice. Merionè struggled vehemently, but choked on his cries as the captor continued to tighten his collar around his thin neck.

At last, the young elf made his decision. He furiously spat at the leader and in a single breath he was on his back with an arrow protruding from his chest.

"NO!" Merionè's cry was nothing more than a gurgle. Tears rolled down his cheeks and his stomach twisted as viciously as the collar strangling him.

The leader sighed and shook his head. "Ah that is a shame. He did look like he would be a fine fighter…." He considered the other warriors, running his eyes over them like a predator choosing his prey.

"NO! Leave them be!! Please, leave them be!" Merionè finally gasped desperately.

The leader ignored Merionè's pleas and moved on to the next warrior.  "Well, well! What is this? Has your King grown so short of soldiers he now must use his women? And such a lovely one also…" He leered hungrily at a female warrior who was pushed in front of him. "Now dear, I certainly hope you are wiser than that poor child…Tell me what your choice is?"

Merionè's entire body went limp as he watched his only female warrior gracefully hold her head high as the elf signaled for his archer to point the deadly arrow at her heart. "Do not touch her! Get your hands off her! Leave her be!!" 

In a gust of wind, Thranduil's warrior rejected the offer and she too was shot. Merionè crumbled to the ground in a pool of tears as she sank into a pool of blood. "Please! Please, do not torture them like this! They do not deserve this! They are here only for me! They only serve me! Torture me! But leave them be!" he cried. His captor loosened his grip and allowed his head to fall limply towards the ground in defeat. 

The leader, clearly amused by this display prepared to choose yet another warrior when a strange light suddenly flooded his eyes. He turned again towards Merionè and studied the broken elf carefully. With a wave of his hand Merionè was lifted from the ground.

"You were right, Merionè," his cold voice slinked through the wind like a serpent's hiss.  "It does not seem any of these warriors of yours will swear their loyalty to Sauron. Thus it seems I may as well kill them all now."

Merionè shook his head, "No, please, do not harm anymore of them.  Take me. Take me instead and let them go."  His voice was as limp and breathless as his body and he clung to the last strand of strained hope that remained. He did not truly believe these creatures would take him over twelve – nay, eight- warriors.  But he had nothing left in the world – not a sword to fight with, not a strong enough muscle in his body, not a scheme clever enough in his mind.  All he had was himself and he would give it all in a heartbeat to stop their suffering – to stop his own suffering from having to endure this frightful nightmare.

The leader's grin widened with insatiable delight. "Ah yes! You have read my mind Merionè! No wonder your King chose you to lead these fools – you are smarter than you appear. Yes….I think I should like to take you instead."

Merionè's breathing stopped and he stared incredulously at the other elf. "You would do it then? You would let them go? You would take me and let them go?"

"Well, it is not as easy as that, Merionè. I'm afraid I cannot just *take* you. You must hand yourself over, mind, body and soul."

The words cut through Merionè like a thousand arrows and he thought for a moment that his heart had actually stopped.  He had thought they would just kill him – that they would take his body, that they would put the arrow in his chest instead of theirs. That was not so bad! Nay, not at all, if that meant the rest would be freed! Ai, he had grown so weary of this world anyway – so many years of fighting, of suffering, and for what?  He loved Greenwood and he loved Thranduil, but his heart grew more distant every year he spent away from Lindon, away from the sea.  Oh yes, it would have been nice to return to the sea, but if he died at this moment, would he ever know the difference anyway? Perhaps from the Halls of Mandos, he could even see the ocean's waves again! It is all he would need – to see it, to hear it, to feel its song once again. Let them have his body! As long as his soul could leave freely, he had no need for his body anymore than he needed the cape on his back.

But they wanted more than his body.  Merionè shook feverishly- could they do it? Could they imprison his very soul? "What do you mean?" he finally breathed.

"I did not capture all of you merely to kill you. I had wanted more warriors for our cause. If I cannot get at least one, then I really have no use for the rest of you so I may as well kill you as punishment for not giving me what I need.  But… if I can get one, then I do not mind what happens to the rest." The leader seized Merionè by the neck and roughly held him up so that they were face to face.

"Swear your loyalty to Sauron and your warriors will be freed," the elf whispered. His voice was an echo that froze Merionè's heartbeats and shot ice through his veins. 

Merionè shook his head and quavered. "No…no… I will not… I cannot…."

The leader promptly dropped him and snapped his fingers for another archer to raise his bow. Merionè gaped in horror as another warrior fell. Only this time, the arrow did not puncture his chest, but his shoulder, causing the elf to writhe and moan in pain.  The leader smirked and snapped his fingers again, ordering another arrow into the other shoulder.

"It is much more fun this way! Where would you like to see the arrow go next Merionè? A leg? How about his stomach? Pick a spot, any spot, just not the heart or the head, we do not want him dying on us after all!"

"No! No, why can't you just shoot me instead?? Please!" Merionè begged once more as he supported himself on his hands and knees.

"You did not choose, Merionè!!" the leader taunted. In a sudden movement, he yanked the hair on the fallen warrior's head and ripped the arrow out of his shoulder which he then held up to his throat. "If you do not, I will, and I promise, I can be very creative!" he snarled, moving the arrow dangerously close to the elf's eyes.

"NO! I will swear it!!"

The leader grinned and dropped the arrow and the wounded warrior to the ground. The earth stood still as he strode to Merionè and gently lifted his chin. "Say it," he hissed, his eyes flashing gleefully.

"I swear my loyalty to you…" Merionè murmured. "Please just let them go, please…"

"Not to me! I am but an agent. Swear it to him! Swear it to Sauron!"

A person can float through life without ever truly understanding the power of an oath, uttering meaningless words and never feeling the sensation that his very soul was tied to the words he spoke. Or perhaps, he will know the meaning of an oath, but it will tie his soul in a way that lifted him higher – an oath of love, or of loyalty to one he loved. Merionè took this oath thousands of years ago when he swore his services to the new King of Greenwood, Thranduil. Alas a day should come that he would not only betray his soul's promise, but he would then bind it to a hell he could not endure! But he could not live with himself if he allowed his warriors to die, one by one.  It was his duty - his duty to them and his duty to Thranduil as the sworn captain of these soldiers – to protect them when he can, to do everything within his power to not wastefully throw their lives away. And therein lay the supreme, cruel irony of the situation – that in order to keep one oath to protect with his life the King's warriors he had to swear another one that would betray that very same King.

"I swear it to Sauron. I swear my loyalty to Sauron…Forgive me Thranduil, forgive me…" he whispered. 

 

A sharp pain ripped through Merionè's head and darkness devoured him. The last thing he heard was the cry of seagulls and the call of the sea.  Merionè became nothing more than an empty vessel to be filled with poisoned lies and malignant seeds of treachery. 

****

When Merionè awoke, he found himself in a dark, dry cave.  He lay on a soft bed of sorts, covered by a light blanket and supported by feathery pillows. It all seemed rather out of place in the bare cave, but Merionè had no chance to consider this as nausea and pain shook his battered body. He tried to call out, but his parched throat only allowed a hoarse whisper to escape his lips.

"So you wake at last," a hooded creature smoothly greeted Merionè. He glided over and placed a cool, wet cloth on his forehead. "You are rather feverish… Here drink this," he said as he held a canteen to his mouth.

Merionè gratefully swallowed the water, which in fact was not water at all, but rather a strange, sweet drink that coated his throat and stomach and soothed his aching muscles. When finally he finished, he felt the strength return to him and he sat up to face his healer.  Slowly, painful memories trickled into his foggy mind like the lingering scenes of a recurring nightmare.

"My warriors?" he asked, his voice still weak and cracked. "Where are my warriors? They have been released?"

Though Merionè could not clearly see the face hidden beneath the shadowy hood, he thought he glimpsed a peculiar smile tugging on the creature's lips.  When he did not answer, Merionè cleared his voice and tried to speak up again. Panic swelled in his heart and toyed with his uneasy stomach the longer the stranger remained silent.

"My warriors! Tell me, were my warriors released?!"

The creature removed the wet cloth and lightly petted his hand. "Do not worry, we did not kill them, just as we promised," he finally replied. Its voice was low and aged, not light and clear as most elf voices were, and Merionè wondered if in fact this was an elf at all that hid underneath the dark hood.  But confusion over the creature's answer pushed out any questions as to his identity.

"Did…did not kill them…but you promised to free them! You promised they would be freed! You did not only promise not to kill them, you promised to free them!"

"*I* did not promise anything. But, they were freed. Freed from that awful glaring sun and our archers pointing at them. Yes, we did free them from that."

Merionè trembled and his heart rose to his throat as the sickening realization that he had been tricked washed over him. "No, no that was not what I meant! You were to free them so that they could go home! They were to go home!"

"Ah, now perhaps you should have specified the terms then. For really, how are we supposed to know what you mean by free? It is such a disputable term…"

"No… no… that was not the promise… that was not what he promised…" Merionè stuttered fearfully. "That was not what he promised!" 

The creature ignored Merionè as he gathered a small, light bag and a rolled up parchment, tied with a single gold string.  He then brought in Merionè's horse and pack which had been supplied with a bounty of food and water to last many days of travel.

"You are to return to your King," he finally declared. "And you are to bring him this," he continued as he handed the bag and parchment in to Merionè.

"What is this?" Merionè asked softly as he began to open the bag.

"Do not open it!" the creature ordered, his voice loud and powerful in the narrow, echoing cave. "It is for your King, and your King only. You are not to open it before him."

Merionè jumped out of the bed angrily, suddenly regaining all the strength that had been drained from him in a fury of confusion and frustration. "What is the meaning of this? Where are my warriors and why do you send me back!? You will tell me…"

In a flash the creature had Merionè at the tip of his sword. "I have already told you enough. Now you will ride back as I have ordered you to do."

"And what of my oath?" Merionè whispered.

The creature lowered his sword and regarded Merionè with amusement, but he did not answer him.  Merionè leaned in closely, straining his keen eyes to see through the misty darkness that blackened the face of his attendant.

"Who are you?" he breathed.

A soft chuckle emanated from the darkness and the creature motioned towards the horse. He then moved out of the way, revealing the dark exit.  It was night in the Rhun, but whether it was the same day that he had been captured or many days later, Merionè did not know. Nor did he know what was real and what was merely a dream – he had made the oath. One does not forget such an oath! But was he still bound to it? Was it real? What happened to his warriors? Did they live? Were they now somehow bound to this evil? What was it they wanted him to bring to Thranduil?

Merionè gazed at the Rhun's night sky, where the stars were strange and the wind did not carry the song of Ilúvatar. "I do not understand. Please, at least tell me the fates of my warriors. I ask for nothing else. I cannot return to my King without knowledge of their fates."

"Do not worry. You will not return to your King empty-handed."

Merionè gazed at the creature, then at the bag and scroll and a sudden dread filled his heart.

"You will go now, Master Elf of Mirkwood," the creature spoke softly. "We are releasing you, Merionè. You should show more gratitude." He then placed a hand on his arm and Merionè noticed for the first time a silver ring with a blue quarter moon carved into a bed of leaves. His head snapped up and for a fleeting moment, he thought he saw a white beard tucked under the cloak. 

Merionè opened his mouth to speak, but a sword at his throat clamped it shut. With a sigh he tied the bag to his belt, secured the scroll in his pack, and mounted his horse to return to Mirkwood and Thranduil.

* * * * * *  *

"As I rode home, I did not feel even a hint of the oath upon my shoulders. Indeed, I felt as free as I ever had, though burdened with worry for what was left of my warriors. I realize now what a fool I was! Ai, of course no one would be released from such an oath! My body may have been freed, but my mind was not. But it was not until we started to travel that it began to darken. It began only in my dreams, but then it came when I was awake… more often and more powerful. I kept telling myself it was the sea longing… It had been getting worse in recent years after all. But then the Orcs came and I could not kill a single one. My mind would not let my arms aim my bow! It would not allow me to control my sword! Then the Black Speech! I should not have understood it…And now… now, it only grows worse… I cannot describe the dreams I have now, even in my waking hours, for it is too frightful, the things it torments me to do…."

As Merionè trailed off, silence claimed the group.  They had known Merionè suffered, they knew he did not reveal all that had occurred, but now that they actually heard the tale in all its horror, they knew not how to react. Even Cièdron, who had sensed Merione's mental imprisonment ever since the battle with the Orcs could not bring himself to face the truth of Merionè's betrayal.

Cièdron grabbed Merionè's hand and squeezed it tightly. "Merionè, do not lose hope! They used you and they tortured you, but they did not expect you to be so strong! You have not been taken yet, my friend, for your mind is not so susceptible to their poison. We will help you. We will find Mithrandir and he will help you. We will not abandon you!"

A strange, pensive mist contorted Bratherond's features as the elf observed the scene before him. At first he furrowed his brows and wrung his hands, then he nervously bit his lip, and finally he spoke up, his voice quivering anxiously in a barely audible whisper.

"Get away from him, Cièdron ," he ordered.

Cièdron stopped his slew of assurances and gaped incredulously at Bratherond, his fair face and bright eyes revealing his shock at the elf's insensitive order.  But he did not move.

Bratherond shook his head and raised his voice nervously. "Cièdron, get away from him," he pleaded.

Perhaps it was the darkness surrounding them, the effect of the tale, the influential aura of Merionè's corrupted mind or Cièdron's usual volatile temper, but something inside the elf snapped setting off a monstrous, supernova of fury. 

"MAY SAURON CLAIM YOU FOR HIMSELF AND TORTURE YOU AS HE HAS MERIONÈ, YOU HEARTLESS FIEND!! HAVE YOU NO SYMPATHY FOR YOUR COMPANION!?" The dark forest shook and animals scurried as if an earthquake had just struck the cursed wood. Cièdron rose and stood eye to eye with Bratherond, his father's rage gushing through his veins, white knuckles tightly closed at his sides, torrid eyes searing in the white-hot darkness that devoured his mind.

Bratherond glared at Cièdron, but controlled his temper and continued to eye Merionè carefully. "I do not wish to test the power of Sauron's forces on you," he hissed. "Do you not see Cièdron? Merionè is their weapon! We have already been deceived into making this suicide mission.  What better way to get to Thranduil than to taint those he trusts most? And what better way than to use their weapon against those Thranduil loves the most!? A fine way to bring down the King, indeed! How convenient also that the fire separated all of us and resulted in Mithrandir being with neither of the King's sons! Ai! One wanders straight into the hands of these servants of Sauron and the other is left alone with their weapon! We can only hope Legolas and Aragorn do not fall into their trap – mayhap Mithrandir did find them." Bratherond momentarily moved his eyes from Merionè who now listlessly stared at the ground murmuring softly under his breath, gripping his knife tightly. The sea, the sea, think of the sea…he repeated, though his hushed words did not reach the distracted ears of Bratherond and Cièdron. 

Bratherond rested his steely gaze on Cièdron and continued, his voice still not rising above the firm, determined hiss. "But as for us, I will not let them win. Beware, Cièdron, the darkness is taking you and it clouds your mind. You will fall easily if you do not keep your wits about you. Do not think ever that I will abandon Merionè, but I also have an oath I must keep." He sighed and broke away from Cièdron's gaze. If only he knew how much like his father he is. The elf then carefully kneeled at Merionè's side and tightly grabbed his wrists while gently wrenching the knife away from him. "I will not let you fall Cièdron."

Cièdron remained standing as a flurry of emotions from frustration, to confusion, to realization, to astonishment fluttered in his soul pushing away his previous anger. He was left speechless by Bratherond's determined promise to him. "You do not need to protect me Bratherond," he finally whispered.

Bratherond sighed, but did not turn towards Cièdron. "I have already lost two of your father's sons, Cièdron. I will not break his heart again," he murmured.

Cièdron opened his mouth to speak, but Bratherond stopped him. "Do not say anything more of it, Cièdron! Now is not the time to argue!"

Bratherond did not address Cièdron anymore as he gazed cautiously at Merionè, waiting for him to cease his murmurs and raise his head.  Merionè did not even seem to notice Bratherond was there however as he continued to rock and mutter under his breath. Bratherond furrowed his brows, tightened his iron grip and called out softly to the distant elf. "Merionè!"

The three warriors sank into the horrible timeless abyss that closed in around them.  There could be no more denials, no more illusions – Merionè was deteriorating before their eyes, collapsing into his own inner torment that literally ate away at his body which now seemed nothing more than a frail, faded tree of Mirkwood.  In a way, Cièdron thought, he was Mirkwood.  He struggled and steadily fell to the evil that absorbed him, withering away at Sauron's strangling grip, fighting, but failing miserably, and now begging for escape - just like the shriveling trees around them. And just as the forest had turned against them, it was only a matter of time before Merionè did the same.  

Finally Merionè responded to Bratherond's calls and he looked up, anguish and darkness filling his eyes. 

"Merionè, we are going to find Mithrandir." Bratherond lowered his voice to a hushed whisper as he loosened his grip on his wrist and moved his hand over Merionè's, gently rubbing the cold fingers between his own. "I know your heart Merionè, but I fear I will not much longer know your mind." Bratherond considered Merionè's knife and hesitatingly handed it back to him, holding on to one hand as he closed the other around its hilt and guided it to its sheath. Merionè gazed at Bratherond in shock.

"Bratherond, nay, I think you should take all of my weapons," he quietly protested.

Bratherond shook his head. "I will not leave you defenseless. Besides, I have seen many battles where you had lost your weapon and still prevailed. I do not think taking away your weapons will help. It is the strength of your will Merionè which we depend on."

Cièdron fell beside Bratherond, placing his hand over his which now shook from Merionè's own trembling hand.  Ai, Ada, if only you knew the evil had been with us all along! I could handle Orcs, I could handle fires and storms, but tell me Ada, how do I handle this?

Bratherond tightened his hold and looked both his companions in the eyes. "It is as we already said. If Sauron wants this wood or our souls, then he will have to pay a hefty sum for it for the Mirkwood elves will not give in so easily! You have not forgotten your words so soon, have you Cièdron? Even if we find our own doom, we shall find theirs as well. Merionè will not give in so easily, just as this forest will not. We will not let him." He then focused solely on Merionè and continued softly, "Merionè, you are strong. Remember those you love, your home, your kin! Think of Lindon and the sea, think of Círdan, think of Greenwood and Thranduil. You can defeat this evil, mellonin..."

Cièdron started at Bratherond's words to Merionè. He had heard these words before! *When interminable darkness settles in, only the hope within your souls will save you. Remember those you love, remember your home, your kin, remember Greenwood… When times are darkest, it will be these memories that pull you through and give you the strength to fight.* Aye, Cièdron's father had spoken these very words to him and Legolas before they left on these doomed missions.  How strange to now here those same words uttered by the elf he quite possibly despised more than any other!

Cièdron sighed and laughed inwardly at this unexpected irony. "Bratherond, forgive me, I underestimated your wisdom," he murmured.

Bratherond halted mid-sentence and gaped at Cièdron as if he were mad. The elf could count on one hand the times he had been left utterly and completely speechless – he certainly never expected that the king's bratty son would be the cause of one of those awkward, mind freezing moments! Cièdron looked away though and continued where Bratherond had left off with Merionè. Bratherond struggled to respond, but all he could do was gape stupidly into space. At last, when all things came to an end and the past laid more claim on their hopeless souls than the future, here within the evil depths of Mirkwood and the terrible entrapment of Sauron, Cièdron had won. In the contest of wills and competition of harsh words, Cièdron could finally claim victory against Bratherond, his words leaving the impermeable elf more bemused and flabbergasted than any other words ever had or ever would again in the short life ahead of him. But even so, in the end, Bratherond would still have the last word against Cièdron.  He would have it no other way.

But before Bratherond could wonder anymore about Cièdron's peculiar admission, a sudden wail shook the forest and an intense chill stabbed the air.  Above them a shadow flew, blocking the few droplets of light that trickled through the thick canopy.  Cièdron and Bratherond quickly forgot their past conversation as they quaked viciously from the dizziness that suddenly overtook them. Merionè remained deathly still, trembling only from the shivers that shook his hand which still remained firmly within the grip of Bratherond and Cièdron. The shadow passed as quickly as it came and left the two elves gasping in a fit of violent shivering and nausea and the third frightfully silent.

"We must go now and find Mithrandir," Cièdron gritted as he pushed down the bile in his throat and took in the eerily calm Merionè.

Bratherond nodded stiffly and slowly rose to his feet, pulling Merionè up with him. He aided the elf in mounting his horse and then mounted his own, never straying too far from Cièdron. As they left, Bratherond trembled from an unspoken fear that suddenly overtook him.

We are too close to Dol Guldur. The Enemy will not make our escape from its shadow so easy and we will not have the strength to fight him both within us and around us! I fear our doom will be more merciless than we ever could have imagined! 'One son wanders straight into the hands of the servants of Sauron and the other is left alone with their weapon…' It is what they wanted. We have played directly into their hands.

TBC

Reviewer Responses and Legolas & Aragorn coming very very shortly…….