Just a reminder since Maglor is the main character in this and the next chapters:

The Doom of the Noldor or Curse of the Valar, depending on your perspective, is a harsh punishment for those seeking to atone:

Tears unnumbered ye shall shed; and the Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains. On the House of Fëanor the wrath of the Valar lieth from the West unto the uttermost East, and upon all that will follow them it shall be laid also. Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue. To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass. The Dispossessed shall they be for ever.

Ye have spilled the blood of your kindred unrighteously and have stained the land of Aman. For blood ye shall render blood, and beyond Aman ye shall dwell in Death's shadow. For though Eru appointed to you to die not in Eä, and no sickness may assail you, yet slain ye may be, and slain ye shall be: by weapon and by torment and by grief; and your houseless spirits shall come then to Mandos. There long shall ye abide and yearn for your bodies, and find little pity though all whom ye have slain should entreat for you. And those that endure in Middle-earth and come not to Mandos shall grow weary of the world as with a great burden, and shall wane, and become as shadows of regret before the younger race that cometh after. The Valar have spoken.

—Quenta Silmarillion, "Of the Flight of the Noldor"

Summary (it is such a long, long time since I posted- I am really sorry. I have struggled with this chapter, written over 80 pages to get this one right, from just about every pov until I realised what I was doing wrong.)

The Hobbits have come to the Barrow Downs to find out why there are bonfires being lit and Black Riders seen. They are helped by Baranor and Elrohir, who have found the Palantir of Amon Sul as Aragorn asked them to so that he legitimises his claim to the throne of Arnor as prophesied by Malbeth the Seer (who also foretold that the King would pass through the Paths of the Dead and come to the Stone of Erech.) Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas have come North to help find Merry (not knowing that he has already been returned) and once they get to the Barrow Downs, Legolas is taken by the Barrow Wights. Aragorn and Gimli find Maglor, who agrees to help them, and everyone meets up in the Iaun-Gynd where they fight the bones of the Orcs that were slain in the Angmar Wars which destroyed the Kingdom of Arnor and especially wiped out the People of Cardolan. Maglor and Elrohir fight the BWs and the Black Riders appear and are in fact, Elladan and Erestor.

Aragorn, Gimli and the Hobbits take refuge in the barrow where they find and awaken Baranor, and Elrohir, Elladan and Erestor have followed them. They arrive just in time to see Legolas apparently attack Aragorn, and Sam to bash him over the head. Prior to this, Legolas had seemingly been with the Prince of Cardolan. They have been attacked by Hrungnîr, a Barrow Wight and would perhaps have been devoured had something not called the Wight away. It could have been the death of Grippsenar, another Barrow Wight, or the arrival of Aragorn in the Chamber of the Prince. Hrungnir then used Legolas to attack Aragorn, as noted above.

Beta: the enormously patient and generous Anarithilien.

This chapter is for jane-ways. Go and read her wonderful Haleth/Caranthir fic, Haudh-en-Arwen which you will love- over on Archive of our own. And there's a nod to her in this chapter -Maglor remembering Caranthir's fondness for Haleth's people.

Nyrdh-fëa - the cord of the soul. Like an umbilical cord that tethers the spirit to the body if sorcery is used to remove the soul. Some sorcerors/witches use this to be able to leave their bodies, as in astral wandering. This is what the morgûl blade does. It was designed initially to remove the elven fëa so that Morgoth could use their bodies, or perhaps to consume their fëa. This is how Frodo was able to see the Nazgûl as they truly are when he was wounded, and how he slipped to the Other Side, as Tolkien calls it, and could also see Glorfindel as a shining light - that would have been Glorfindel's fëa that he could see.

Chapter 30. The Nyrdh-fëa

Legolas stood astonished, staring after the Barrow Wight that was swallowed by the darkness that had come eddying back like a tide. A wind drawing through the dark tunnels tugged at his hair, and for the first time, he noticed that his own green-gold light streamed ahead of him like the same wind tugged at his fëa, sucking it back into the barrow. At first, he wondered if the Barrow Wight had struck him with a morgûl blade as they fought on the ship and his fëa was bleeding out into the darkness. But when he thought back to before the fight, he realised that, in fact, it had already been streaming out of him. It explained why he felt stretched, wrung out and anxious.

The weakness let something claw at the insides of him, something that he had been intent on ignoring long before he had been taken into this barrow that was full of bones, ancient tribes of Men but the dreadful bones of Orcs too. And it was a close, oppressive dark. It was in every way like the catacombs of Minas Tirith, the tombs of the Kings and Stewards. Like the cell where he had been imprisoned by the Ghoul. Where the Ghoul had bitten him and he had…no! He would not go there.

I am still here, said a voice, deep within, nestled somewhere inside him, a wildness and violence. He remembered the sensation of shadows taking over, like the running wolves leaping, grey-silver fur and bloody-mouthed, in the woods, hunting and snarling.

Dragûr.

That was what the Barrow Wight had said. It meant Undead.

But it also meant Wolf of Shadows, of Sorcery in Sindarin.

Was that what he was? Was that what lurked beneath his skin now, ever since his ordeal in the cell?

But he shied away from the trauma, and locked away the hidden things, the dreadful suffocating veil of the Mirror that had wrapped itself lewdly around his naked, stretched body, where the Nazgul had fed, slurping and sucking on him like Thuringwethil's spawn. He buried deep the memory of the Ghoul, leering and gibbering and touching him, reaching out one clawed and taloned hand to stroke down his naked thigh, creeping over his skin. And he refused to remember that it had grinned and lowered its head to lick the blood from Legolas' skin, and that Legolas had let his head drop back and his lips had parted but not in horror and pain, but in the beginnings of ecstasy.

He shut down that memory, shoved it away, locked it back up in the dark. Secret. Safe. Untold. Suppressed.

No. He would not think of that. He would not admit…

He shook his head to free himself of any residual and turned instead with desperation, towards Eldarion's ghost and followed him. 'The Barrow Wight, Hrungnîr, has gone,' he said unnecessarily but he needed to speak, so that the thing, the Dragûr inside did not wrestle its way out of his belly and possess him utterly. It was like Legolas himself had been untethered, that what bound him to Arda had been cut and he was in danger of floating off into the darkness, piece by piece, and the thing that was trying to claw its way out of him would burst from his belly and roar into the darkness.

He was hardly aware of his ghostly companion, preoccupied with wishing he had told Elrohir. But he had shied away every opportunity that had presented itself and Elrohir had not pushed him. Although there had been times when their love-making had been on the edge of violence and Legolas had caught his lover watching him with anxiety that was not quite fear. But shame burned him, that he had been captured, so easily duped, strung up, abused, defiled, and here he was again, captured and lost and bringing great danger to his friends.

He longed for Elrohir. There had been moments that he thought he could feel the crimson warmth of Elrohir bathing him in devotion and love, but that could not be for Elrohir was in Imladris and they had parted bitterly. Even so, he thought he heard Elrohir's Song distinctly, as if he were close and thinking of Legolas too.

I will go to Imladris and find him, he promised. When I get back, when I get out of here…I will tell him everything, all that happened. I will tell him of… of this thing in me.

He ignored the cynical sneer against his mind, the dark lust that raged in his blood, and he ruthlessly suppressed it.

'You are wounded,' Eldarion was saying. Legolas blinked and looked down at himself to see blood smeared over his naked skin, over his chest. Was this where Hrungnîr had sliced him open with the great sword, he thought, puzzled. Confused, he lifted his arm to see there was indeed a cut where he expected it, and it had bled, but clots had formed quickly and he was already healing from it. There was a smaller puncture wound above it that he did not remember. Nor did he remember this wound to the chest. But the fight with the Barrow Wight had been very hard and in battle, often he had not noticed wounds until the fever of battle had leeched from him and that deep exhaustion set in. That must be what had happened, he told himself, but the confusion about how he had been wounded had begun to worry him.

'Hrungnîr fled,' said Eldarion, a note of triumph in his voice, staring at Legolas. 'You drove it from us.'

'No,' Legolas protested quickly. 'It retreated, yes, but something called it, surely? There was the storm.' He remembered the terrible crash that had hammered the hill, like a thunderbolt had struck through the barrow and into the chamber itself. It must have raged over the moor, he thought, and said. 'Did you not hear how the wind shrieked through the tunnels?' He thought for a moment. 'Something drew it away. It almost bounded over the rocks it had bought down.' He looked up as if he might see through the tons of earth above them and to the sky. 'As if something had called to it.'

'Perhaps it was the sounding of the Horn of Cardolan?' Eldarion said excitedly. He reached towards Legolas. 'We must find the horn and go to the aid of he who sounded it. We must reach him before Hrungnîr finds him.' He turned to face Legolas and the ghostly army that thronged behind him. 'Come. We will find the Horn that sounds ringing. We have awoken,' he cried. 'We have awoken!'

'Wait,' cried Legolas for he did not believe the horn was what had pulled the Barrow Wight away. 'The horn had already sounded before Hrungnîr came!'

But it was too late, and they did not listen. There was a sound as if from far away at first, a whisper that grew into a murmur of elation and anger, and then became a low roar of many voices, distant and faded with time and ages and grief. The jewel that was upon Eldarion's brow deepened, gleaming brightly in the darkness and the light from it seemed to kindle in the blue brooch upon his breast, that Legolas thought was perhaps a lady's favour. Haleth perhaps? Or his unnamed wife? He had barely spoken of her.

'Eldarion! You do not know for certain why the Barrow Wight left!' he cried in vain for Eldarion was rushing forwards, leading his ghostly army. 'It may have been called by other Wights for a battle above ground,' Legolas shouted. 'Maybe that was no storm we heard. Maybe it was a battle!'

'Yes!' Eldarion looked back towards Legolas briefly, a triumphant, hungry smile on his lips. 'A battle! It is the Dagor Dagoreth! We are called! We are awake!'

Legolas could do nothing. The ghosts of Cardolan streamed past him like the mist on the Downs, and Legolas heard again the yearning murmur that was their Song, like the wind sweeping through the long grass of the moorland, of the curlew flying in the twilight.

Ah, the long darkness, cold, cold dark

Silent graves, empty bones.

So long dead, for what is beneath the earth devours our bones.

Long have we lain beneath the earth,

Forgotten, forlorn.

No longer do the children of Men come and our People are lost and wandering.

What is beneath the earth imprisons us, devours our bones.

So long since we felt the wind on our face, the grass under our feet, smelt the golden gorse and purple heather.

Legolas' felt the hair on his scalp prickle and rise, and down the back of his neck. Moving around and alongside him were the ghosts of Men. Thin banners fluttered although there was no wind, and as before he heard a distant clash of swords, the whinny of horses, and the din of battle far off.

Now the Song changed and became bitterly triumphant, and full of anger.

We have heard the horn again in the hills ringing!

Awakening us to our long grief.

Awakening us again to the treachery of Elendil's line, a promise not kept!

A promise made to we, who have been awakened under the hill,

The horn has called us from the grey twilight, the ancient Queens, and lords of old,

And the promises made to the slain will be honoured.

Legolas listened, as he always did, and felt their misery and anger at their long, long imprisonment, for he too had known despair and imprisonment. But there was an energy now in their anger, a purpose and he hoped that he could reach Aragorn before these vengeful and betrayed ghosts met Aragorn, for he did not think they would stay their hand to listen. And though they may unite with Aragorn against the common enemy, they would have their vengeance upon the blood of Arveleg, of Elendil's line.

Now the ghosts flooded through the gap in the wall like a grey mist and Legolas scrambled over the rockfall with them, where Hrungnîr had disappeared. Immediately, the Ale-gezên- aozh flared into life, gleaming on the craggy and enlarged skulls of the Orcs, the empty eyes that seemed to watch as he climbed over the fallen rocks, the bared teeth that wanted to gnash and gnaw and chew his bones. He paused for a moment on the rocks, looking down into the chamber below. He did not want to go down there.

'Come,' Eldarion stood now in the chamber, surrounded by the heavy ivory bones of Orcs. 'We will avenge our blood, our children, our friends, our families,' he cried. 'Let us throw the Barrow Wights from our Sanctuary and take our place at the side of the one who summons us to the Dagor Dagoreth!'

Legolas' foot slipped on a loose rock and he carelessly dropped one of the Ale-gezên-aozh, but it seemed to cling to him, and he found it easily, hefted it in his hand, and the sharp little whisper went through him, of protection and cunning.

We are named Ale-gezên-aozh, the All-seeing, they spoke in sharp little whispers. We see all, before and behind. We will guard.

It seemed that the emerald jewels in the hilts slid their watchful gaze over him. They gave him hope and warmth, like when he stood next to Gimli.

He found his way to the chamber floor and stood amongst the bones, trying hard not to imagine a skeletal hand gripping his foot.

Around him the ghostly army milled, their shapes dim and wavering. Legolas' own green-gold light mingled with them, streaming and waving like river weed in the brown-gold forest river. Only then did Legolas realise that his own stream of light ran along from the dark passageway ahead, about a foot off the ground, and as he approached, it curled up around and into him like an embrace. He gathered up the green-gold light in his hands and gently brought it to him as if he might bathe in it. It washed through and over him and he could not help a little moan that escaped him for the comfort it brought. The warmth, and strength.

Around him, he noticed, the ghostly throng had slowly stilled, and silence had fallen. They were watching him, he realised, and he noticed how sadly Eldarion looked at him; the kind compassion on his face suddenly frightened Legolas.

'Now do you comprehend?' Eldarion said softly. 'I have tried to tell you what you did not want to know.'

Legolas stared at him. A memory recurred: in the Houses of Healing in the sun-warmed garden, Elrond had sat with Legolas and listened as Legolas unburdened himself of all that had happened… Almost. Elrond had looked at him piercingly and said that since the Nazgûl had cut his fëa from him on the Mindolluin, Legolas' fëa was light in his body, that he might be less tethered. He had not understood what Elrond meant. Until now.

Eldarion stood close to him, his face grave. 'The Barrow Wights have at least one morgûl blade and perhaps they have many.' He cast a look at Legolas as if judging how much truth he could bear. 'They bewitched you when they brought you to the Iaun-Gynd, the Sanctuary, intending to cut your spirit and devour it as they had many Men before. I was able to reach you before it happened. Your spirit escaped them, and they did not pursue us. If they had caught us, they would have devoured you, and perhaps this time, they would have also devoured what is left of me.' He sighed. 'I am fading.'

There was a breath of cold air as if the ghostly army had sighed. But Legolas was not really listening. He touched the wound that had appeared in his chest. 'Am I dead then?' he asked with a desperate fear.

Eldarion brushed the air about Legolas' heart. 'Your empty body lies still on the tomb in the heart of the Iaun-Gynd. It is not too late. Your spirit is still tethered to your body. That is what you can see. I have heard it called the nyrdh-fëa.' He indicated the shimmering cord of green-gold light, like beech leaves newly unfurled in the Spring that ran off into the darkness. 'It is why we take you there now.'

All the air seemed to be pushed out of Legolas' lungs.

Of course. It was what had kept him tethered to his body when the Nazgûl cut him on the Mindolluin. His fëa then…At last he understood. His body was still on the altar where the Barrow Wights had laid him.

'I have to go then,' he said simply and strode into the darkness. The green-gold ribbons spooled about him and clung to him like a cloak of shivering golden mist.

Suddenly, an image imprinted itself sharply on him: in the darkness somewhere ahead, a tall figure was hunched over the fragile skein of his nyrdh-fëa, and had caught it in its mailed fist. The green-gold light reflected on the dark armour and lit up the pale hungry eyes. A great mane of darkness flowed from under the figure's dark helm. It bore a shield on one arm and a great sword such as the ancient lords wielded in the war of Angmar was at its side.

Hrungnîr.

A rill of blue fire fled along the Ale-Gezên-aozh, and Legolas began to run, leaping over the bones and rocks, his eyes wide and stretched in the darkness. He had to stop Hrungnîr from cutting his nyrdh-fëa. If it did, he could not get back. He would be dead. He felt the cold lightness of the ghosts streaming alongside him, keeping pace with him, sometimes washing the smooth stone walls of the passage with their own milky light.

He felt Hrungnîr pluck experimentally at the shimmering ribbons of his fëa. Acute pain, no, anguish rippled through him, and he cried out, clutching his chest. When it stopped, he ran again.

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