Title: Wherever the Surge May Sweep
Author: Partheon
Rating: PG-13 – for violence, adult themes, darkness, blood, and overall angstiness.
Warnings: very AU and fairly dark. And, for those who don't know, I make no promises for a happy ending. While I am not a slash writer, there are some unrequited slash issues if you really, really, really squint.
Summary: In a much darker Middle-earth than the one we know, the lines between good and evil are blurred as Legolas and Estel are taken down a very different path.
Disclaimer: I own none of the recognizable characters in this story—they all belong to JRR Tolkien and New Line.
Chapter Four: The Long, Lingering Look
Nor cast one
longing, ling'ring look behind.
- Thomas
Gray
Streaks of lightning shot across the smooth, dark surface of the palantir and the orb fairly buzzed with contained energy. Images swirled behind the jagged dashes of light and dark clouds would periodically fill and then disperse from the face of the seeing stone. The future could be unlocked here – if the right hands held the palantir.
Long white hair was blowing in a non-existent wind and painfully thin hands were stretched inches from the surface of the palantir. Saruman's eyes were delicately closed and his mouth was pressed into a tight line.
Elrond had said the child had died – the son of Arathorn had been stillborn. Angry light leaped from the stone and caressed the long fingernails. It was not so. The son of Arathorn was alive – but he was lost.
Cheek muscles tightened and the fingers flexed. Then, with a cry of rage, Saruman wrenched his hand from the top of the stone. He staggered backwards, fairly falling into the wretched black chair that served as his throne.
Shoulders hunched and hands folded deeply into his robe, Saruman's eyes darkened and narrowed. Too much work had been done to allow Elrond to hide this… this child from him. Too much work…
He had extended his powers over the palantir with the help of Sauron. He had reached into the very minds of the two most power elves in Middle-earth. He had planted their dreams and visions of the darkness that would come if Aragorn was allowed to fall into his hands. He had twisted their thoughts until the son of Arathorn's fall seemed eminent – unavoidable.
From the middle of the room, the palantir roared – breaking the silence of the dank chamber – and spit sparks upwards in the still air.
Cringing back in his throne, Saruman shook his head. No, of course he had not done it alone… Sauron had helped…
Lightning bolted upwards and tumultuous clouds raged just beneath the glossy surface of the fickle seeing-stone.
Sauron had given him, Saruman, the power to fulfill these deeds. The white wizard cast a nervous glance at the palantir. Sauron deserved all the credit for anything that was accomplished through Saruman's hands. Because Sauron was the great lord of Middle-earth… the greatest king of Middle-earth.
The palantir seemed to settle itself, turning to a cool, smooth black
Saruman had hoped that fear would compel the elves to abandon the babe in the wilderness. Of course, then he could take the child and raise him – mold him – to be the ruler Saru… Sauron wanted him to be.
Arathorn had fallen so easily.
Gleefully, the wizard remembered the first meetings – when Arathorn had been distrustful and rash against the one he viewed as evil. He had watched the wizard with wary eyes for a long time. Then Saruman had weakened his defenses with kind words and soft platitudes. He had whispered sincerities into the man's open ear and he had smiled at all the right times.
He had looked into the man's mind and seen the weaknesses and he had exploited every single one of them. He had taken the hidden insecurities and showed him how those he loved were responsible. He had twisted the bond the young man shared with that elf and had turned it into something perverse. He had seen the small doubts – fears for the future – and turned them into outright paranoia that threatened to consume the man's thoughts, driving him to the brink of madness itself.
And, then, when the young man's mind had been weak with confusion and fear, Saruman had extended a black cloud over the mind, shrouding the bond and keeping Legolas out. He had tightened the knots at the edges and thrown the key away.
How proud he had been to see the soft gray eyes become bitter with malice – the congenial young man transformed into a servant of utter darkness.
After that, how easily the young man had believed the wizard's words. When Saruman had told him Legolas was a weak mentor – that the elf was holding him back – he had listened with open ears. When he had told Arathorn a twisted version of the events surrounding his father's death – the man had bought the ploy. When he had whispered in Arathorn's ear of the deceitful trickery of Legolas – how the elf had seduced Gilraen and taken her to his bed – the young man had lapped it up and turned on Legolas with a ferocity that surprised even the wizard. He had been all that the wizard wanted.
Saruman the White had stolen that meddlesome elf's protégé right out from under his very nose.
And in turn, the wizard grumbled, the elf had stolen him right back. He had sent the young man to the Halls of Mandos and word had it that the darkening veil had been lifted from the man's mind right before death – that he had looked into the eyes of his mentor and friend with love instead of malice. He had seen the light briefly, they said, for the last time.
Saruman liked to believe they were just rumors. He liked to believe that the young man had been his as the darkened soul had winged its way to the Halls of Mandos. It made him feel better.
But there was no sense dwelling on the past. Saruman drew his cloak around him and hunched deeper into the darkness of the chair.
The son of Arathorn must be found. There was no other recourse if Saruman's plans were to succeed. Legolas was responsible for the child's disappearance, the wizard was sure of that.
A dark scowl twisted the hateful features more. This would be the last time the elf ever interfered with a wizard's plans. Saruman would make sure that the elf's body was rotting in a crypt somewhere before the wizard allowed him to upset the future according to Sauron.
It would not be a hard matter to regain what the elf had stolen, the wizard consoled himself. Saruman tapped his fingers together. All he had to do was pay the right men the right amount of money.
Legolas wiped his dusty hands on a soft cloth as he walked towards the back kitchen of the inn. His blond hair was pulled back in a thick braid that went all the way down his back and his clothes were a little bit ragged around the edges.
He dropped the cloth to a small table and pushed open the door, relishing the warm draft of air that drifted from the interior. "Idella?" he called.
"In here, Legolas. Little Estel was quite hungry." Idella – Bartmelou's wife – had taken a liking to Legolas's young charge from the moment the elf had started working for her husband several months prior. Despite her reputation of having a sharp tongue, Idella had a loving, giving spirit which she bestowed upon all those who happened to win her favor. Estel had only needed to smile and gurgle just once to become her favorite little boy.
A smile twitched at the elf's lips as he peeked into the next room. "You do not have to feed him. I can do that when I get home. You have already done so much for us. The last thing I want to be is a burden."
She waved one hand in his direction. "Posh. Growing boys need food and I am happy to oblige." She slipped another spoonful of oatmeal into the eight-month-old's mouth. "He is such a nice boy too."
Estel caught sight of Legolas coming into the room and he clapped his hands with delight. His little, pudgy face broke into a wide grin that showed several partially grown teeth. "Le-las," he crowed happily, his arms reaching towards the elf in eagerness. "Le-las!"
A gentle laugh softened Legolas's features and the elf picked up the squirming child and bounced him a couple times against one hip. "Hello, little one. Were you good today for Idella?"
"Good," Estel repeated, one hand tangling in Legolas's braid. "Good."
Legolas gave an indulgent smile and turned to Idella. "He is at the stage where he mimics everything. I need to be getting home. Tell your husband that the new gelding should be ready for riding tomorrow."
"Of course, Legolas. I packed a basket of food for you. You are both much too skinny." She clucked her tongue and waved a finger under Legolas's nose while she handed over a large picnic basket to the elf's free hand. She hesitated a moment and then leaned close. "Legolas, my husband thought I should tell you – there were men here last night asking if an elf lived in these parts."
Legolas's breath caught in his throat and his grip tightened reflexively around Estel, causing the little one to squirm slightly, but the elf did not notice. "Did they learn anything?"
Idella pushed the strands of gray hair back to intermingle with the light brown ones. "You have become favored by many in this town. No one told them anything. But," she continued, "be on your guard, my friend. I saw them wandering about the town this morning still looking."
Jaw tightening, Legolas looked towards the main town road. "Thank you," he said quietly.
She nodded and laid a small, calloused hand on his arm. "Legolas, tell me, are they after you? Have you done something wrong?"
"No," he shook his head and his gaze rested on Estel, tenderness shining through his dark eyes. "I have something that they wish for desperately and I am not about to give it up to anyone." He glanced in the direction of the street again. "Idella, could you do me a favor? I would do nothing to endanger you," he hastily added.
A warm smile crossed her face. "I know you would not, young man." She scooped her cloak up from a nearby chair and fastened it around her shoulders before taking Estel so Legolas could do the same. "What would you have me to do?"
"Walk with me to the edge of town. They will think we are a family and not a lone man traveling with a child." Legolas drew the hood of his cloak over his blond hair and pointed ears.
She agreed and together they slipped into the waning sunlight as evening began to cover the sky. Stars had just begun to sparkle above. The doors of homes were being barred; candles and oil lamps were being lit by mothers as all prepared for supper.
Legolas held Estel partially under his cloak, humming a soft tune to keep the child quiet. His stance was casual and his gait was a stroll but his eyes darted to and fro across the dim, vacant street.
Idella walked close to his side, one arm brushing his, as she tugged her cloak tighter around her shoulders.
The sharp sound of a dog's bark echoed against the brown walls of the city. The dusky light barely revealed the dark outline of the door set into the protective wall that led to the safety of the trees. If he could only make it to the door… His feet sped up a little and his fingers wrapped tightly around the baby's soft thighs.
Just when he thought their escape from the town would be clean and quiet, footsteps sounded behind. Legolas breathed through his nose and rubbed a hand over the child's downy hair.
"Stop," a voice called. "A moment of your time if you would."
Legolas stopped and drew Idella to a stop with him as he handed her a drowsy Estel. "If this goes badly, make for the woods and wait for me there," he whispered before he turned. "Yes?" he asked in a clear, strong voice – a voice that indicated nothing more than he was a simple family man on a walk.
Two large men materialized from the shadows and drew near the slim elf. "Do you know of an elf that works at the stables? We saw you leave there…" Their voices trailed off and they leered.
Face impassive and eyes hooded, Legolas lifted his hands. Do not anger them – just convince them there is nothing to see here… "An elf does work there but he left hours ago." He was vaguely aware of Idella backing away behind him, slipping closer to the door, and he silently prayed the Valar would hold them safely until he could come to them again.
"I think you're lying," the larger of the two hissed as he moved closer to where the elf waited silently in the middle of the street. "Now," a blade gleamed in the dull starlight. "Tell us where the elf is."
Legolas made sure his right foot was planted firmly in the dirt before he lashed out with the other foot, striking the man in the side of the neck.
He went down like a felled tree, the knife tumbling to the ground.
The other man moved as if to rush Legolas but never had a chance as Legolas brought his clasped hands down hard on the back of his neck, killing him instantly as the veins leading to the brain burst.
Kneeling quickly, Legolas felt for the first man's pulse. When he found a weak, erratic one, the elf placed his hand on either side of the man's head and snapped the thick neck with a flick of his wrists.
A breeze swept over the street, bringing with it the scent of the river flowing nearby. The sound of low voices came from one of the houses and the trees rustled ever so slightly. Nothing abnormal could be heard – nothing that would indicate that Legolas had just killed two men within a few seconds.
His gaze was drawn upwards towards where Idella stood clutching Estel, a mixture of awe and revulsion on her weathered, homely face as she stared fixedly at the two limp corpses. Legolas forced a soothing smile at her and stood slowly, one gentle hand reaching towards her. "Can you keep Estel at your house for awhile, Idella? I will not be long."
She blinked several times and began to walk as if in a daze back to the inn. Just before she passed Legolas, the woman turned to study the deceptively delicate face of the elf. "You killed those men," she murmured.
Legolas nodded as he hoisted the first of the men over his shoulder and began to walk towards the deep, swift river that flowed next to the town. "They were bounty hunters – cruel men. I do only what is necessary to protect those whom I love. I cannot allow anyone to take Estel away from me."
Idella nodded slowly and then trotted down the silent dirt road, the light blue of her dress making a stark contrast to the darkness of the night.
The small door in the wall that led directly to the river opened soundlessly under Legolas's pressure. As soon as he stepped from the protection of the city, the noise of rushing water filled his ears and he could smell the cool, sweet scent of the river just a few steps away.
He knew the river was fast – and deep: bodies thrown into its depths would be found days – weeks – later. And they would be found up to a hundred miles from the place they had been tossed.
Legolas stood at the edge of the icy water, hearing the rush and seeing the eerie reflection of the moon. The river was nothing more then a thick swath of white foam and dark water – ripples creating a distorted specter of the stars. For a moment he stopped there at the river's edge with the tide licking at the ground only a hand's length away. He took a deep breath and felt the wavering in his hands as the energy that had flowed through him rushing out of him just as quickly.
Two men had just been killed – slaughtered – by his hand in the name of protecting a young boy. And now Legolas would hide the bodies deep in the spirit of Ulmo, covering his sins.
"Ai, Valar," he whispered, stumbling a few steps back from the dark water and dropping the man to the ground. He had killed orcs and spiders and goblins by the dozens. But a man… the last man he had killed had been Arathorn – a sacrifice to Legolas's own failings.
With the great effort it took written on his delicate cheekbones, Legolas carefully tied a rock to the man's feet, using a long strand he store from the man's fine linen shirt. He hoisted the man over his shoulders and waded into the thick of the river. Then, with a great splash, the man was gone.
Legolas stood watching the glimmering moon in the water, praying to Ulmo to carry the bodies to the sea and hide them forever in his watery embrace. The Valar had laid this path before him – Lórien had given him the visions and confirmation – Ilúvatar had willed him to do this – then should not he be justified in taking the life of one of the Followers? Should not Ulmo honor his request and hide the sins – the sins the Valar forced him to commit – until the end of the days? His prayers were silent and the turmoil did little to disturb his placid face; but, he stood for a long moment on the bank, mind roiling about, before turning and slogging his way back to where the other man lay.
Whatever it took, he vowed, Estel would remain safe. He would not shy from his duty nor would he look back on Arathorn to what might have been. From this moment on, he would go onwards with the resolution of a great lion.
And he would succeed.
As the last of the snows were piled in great drifts outside in the streets, the men and women of Archet gathered in Bartmelou's Inn and Pub to share in the drinks, food, dancing, and tales. The holidays were fast approaching and the jovial spirit increased the laughter – as well as the ale. Over in one corner, a fiddler plucked out a merry tune while a blond young woman plunked along on the piano.
Even a few children were perched at the tables, clutching glasses of milk and a queer non-alcoholic drink made from ginger and tree roots. Their small eyes were wide with fascination as they watched their parents indulge themselves. In one corner, a few small games had been set up for them and many of them congregated around playing pin-the-tale-on-the-warg and checkers.
Bartmelou was in his element. Bustling around among his guests, shaking hands and sharing in jokes, his wide smile never left his face and his skin was flushed to the tip of his large, floppy ears. Dark brown eyes were sparkling as he threw back yet another glass of ale and encouraged two young people – that, in his humble opinion, were just perfect for each other – to get on the dance floor.
Sitting at a relatively quiet corner table, Legolas laughed quietly and turned back to Idella. "Your husband seems to be enjoying himself," he remarked, his arms folded across his chest.
Her green eyes rested on the laughing figure of her husband with fondness. "He is quite the storyteller – he loves a chance to exploit that gift." She smiled and turned to the table's other occupant. "And Estel seems to be enjoying himself too."
At the sound of his name, the three-year-old looked up with a saucy grin and a face covered in molasses. "Pancakes," he crowed and held out a piece of his dinner for her to inspect. "Good! Good!"
This time, Legolas full-out laughed. "Here, Estel." He grabbed a cloth napkin from the table and began to clean off the sticky face. "I am never going to let you eat pancakes for dinner again."
"Pancakes!" Estel gave a toothy smile at the blond elf, displaying his baby teeth. "Pancakes!"
"Yes, pancakes," Legolas grabbed the little one's chin. "And you will get no more if you do not eat them like I taught you."
Estel gave Legolas a look of complete innocence, blinking slowly. His lower lip was trembling as if at any moment, he would give in to a deluge of tears. "No pancakes?" he asked softly, eyes lowering to the top of his highchair as he peeked at Legolas from beneath lowered lashes.
Legolas ruffled the dark hair. "Well, never mind. Just eat polite. Remember?" The elf pantomimed eating carefully for the child, his sea blue eyes twinkling with merriment. "That is the way you do it. Just like I taught you."
Dimples appeared in either one of Estel's plump cheeks as he grinned widely. "Le-las want pancake." And he proffered the piece to the elf, waving it right in Legolas's face. "Eat pancake," he ordered.
Happy to oblige, Legolas leaned forwards across the table and took the piece of molasses-drenched pancake from the utensil with his mouth. "Mhm," he rubbed his stomach, pausing only to send a wink in Idella's direction. "Good."
The old woman burst into peals of laughter. "Oh, you young ones warm an old woman's heart." She cast a speculative look at the way Legolas's hair glistened in the lamplight and the slight ripple of muscles beneath the linen shirt. "Of course, I wouldn't mind if you warmed a lot more."
Legolas pretended to look shocked. "Idella! You are married!"
She laughed again and just shook her head. "So, tell me, elf. Why did you venture to the town tonight? I know you do not normally like these," she looked around at the carousers, "gatherings."
Putting down the napkin he had been holding, Legolas suddenly seemed very quiet. "I had a favor to ask of you."
"Go on."
He took a deep breath and leaned forward, making the lamplight reflect off of his dark blue eyes. "I have never celebrated the Winter Festivals in the human fashion," he explained. "My people celebrate the solstice which comes some days after your day of festivities. But I feel Estel must learn of his people and I would ask you to teach me of the traditions of mortals."
Idella nodded. "Why now? You have lived among us for three years now. Three festivals have passed without this need to learn of them."
The elf watched Estel shovel another piece of pancake into his mouth. "Estel is old enough to remember them now. As he grows up, I do not want him to feel different then the other children."
Brown and gray strands had fallen over Idella's ears so she pushed them back. "Well, we place a tree in the middle of the house and usually decorate it with candles, apples, and bright pieces of paper. Really, very simple. And on the day of Festival, you exchange gifts with your family members." She shrugged.
Legolas knit his dark brows together as his eyes watched Estel slop up the molasses with his hands. "Why would you put candles and paper on a tree? Are not they beautiful as it is?"
"I suppose. But it is the spirit of the thing. A family will decorate their tree together."
A loud crash sounded behind them followed by a spurt of curses that had Legolas wishing he could reach over and cover Estel's ears.
Idella smiled and rose from the table. "I am needed back at work now. Enjoy your night." She patted Estel's head. "And good night to you, young man. Don't give Legolas too much trouble."
Estel waved a sticky hand in her direction. "Bye-bye, 'della!"
Watching Estel stuff the last bit of pancake into his mouth, Legolas rubbed his hands on his leggings and stood, reaching around to unfasten Estel from his highchair. The smells and the loud noises were beginning to give him a headache. "Come on, young one," Legolas said as he easily lifted Estel into his arms. "Time to travel home and go to bed."
With practiced hands, he laid Estel's small coat around the boy's shoulders and placed the knit cap atop the downy black hair. "It is cold tonight," he murmured to himself as he wrapped a wool blanket around the boy on top of all of his clothes before balancing the boy on one side of his hip.
The small child wrapped his arms around Legolas's neck and buried his grimy hands in the elf's hair. "Not tired," Estel protested even as he laid his head against the elf's shoulder. "Wanna stay."
Legolas threw a few coins on the table and made his way through the crowd of people. "Not this time, Estel." He waved his free arm at Bartmelou before he stepped from the oppressive warmth of the interior and into the cool night air.
Snow crunched beneath his feet and he tilted his head back to watch the stars twinkle against the black backdrop.
In Mordor, the day was sooty. Ash-filled clouds hung oppressively low over the slate rock and orange fires. In the midst of the barren landscape, a wicked black tower stood out as an ugly scar against the distant blue sky.
Atop the tower, flickering flames wreathed a huge eyeball as it ceaselessly roamed the land – searching, looking for the one thing that could restore the fallen Valar to his former state of glory.
Beneath him, orcs roamed here and there, fighting amongst themselves for a scrap of meat or a piece of shiny metal or a particularly cruel-looking weapon.
If the eyeballs could snort – well, let's just say that Sauron would have done that and much more to the multitude imbeciles that congregated below him under the guise of being an army – an army that was supposedly destined to crush the last resistance in Middle-earth and forever subjugate this land to Sauron's iron rule
Orangish light beamed from the lidless eye and cut through the dreary clouds. Soon – he promised himself – soon he would once again be the dark and powerful figure that had inspired such fear among even in the mightiest of the Eldar.
Gondor and Rohan were even now descending deeper into turmoil while Saruman worked to build his own army and to confuse the minds of the elves.
A spat of flames burst from one side of the eyeball and disappeared in the gloomy smoke. Saruman – the imbecilic fool – had become obsessed with the idea of taming Isildur's heir. The wizard had fantasies – Sauron huffed at the word – of recreating a baby full of light into a dark creature that would rule under their thumb.
Honestly, Sauron cared not one way or the other. If Saruman succeeded in bringing him a thoroughly debauched Isildur's heir then Sauron would accept the gift gladly. If he did not… well, Sauron had no qualms about doing away with the descendant of the man who had originally stripped him of his dark power. In fact, he found the prospect quite pleasant.
And, in the end, none of that mattered. Middle-earth – heart and soul – belonged to him. It was destined to grovel under the crushing press of his thumb – to be pressed face-first in the dust.
The flame-wreathed eyeball roared and a hiss of flames shot everywhere.
He and he alone was the Ruler – the king – of Middle-earth. He controlled the fates of all the sniveling beings that existed outside the walls of Mordor. And he reveled in their complete suffering.
Sauron was the Master of Fates.
Preview of the Next Chapter
"Le-las?"
Luminous blue eyes, still touched with fading panic, looked towards the kitchen and the four-year-old running – or trying to run anyway – towards him on stubby little legs, Cobi clutched in one arm.
Legolas smiled in relief and knelt on the floor to embrace the small boy. He felt the softness of dark hair against his neck, the imprint of a small face against his shoulder, and the warmth of tiny arms wrapped around his neck. "Estel," he greeted and he was proud when his voice did not waver as he inhaled the soapy smell that was distinctly the scent of the small child. "Why was the door unlocked?'
Estel lowered his face and as Legolas stood, he wrapped his legs around the elf's slim waist, Cobi pressed between them. "A man came."
Review Responses
Viggomaniac: thank you so much for your kind words. I have indeed written a lot of this story. On my computer, I am at page 219 with 120,000 + words and I am imagining there will be at least another 100 pages before the story is completely told, if not more. I've been reluctant to post quickly because I want to make sure there is a sense of continuity throughout. I'm always afraid that my muse is going to swing in another direction and I'll be left with a chapter or phrase near the beginning that no longer makes sense. However, after several rereadings, I have deemed the first few chapters safe to post as the plot is much too developed at this point to change much. I'm glad you find this AU believable, I worked so hard to try and make it so. I hope you continue to read and enjoy.
LegolassQ: my dear friend, it is good to hear from you again. The ending to this story I am not imagining will be too painful. I can promise that Middle-earth will be left in much of the same place as Tolkien left it at the end of the appendices – mine will just have taken a wider, darker, more circumvent route to get there. While there will be some major character deaths, Legolas and Estel will both be alive at the end of the story.
Mariette: your commentary made my day! This story was a wonderful labor to write and I am very proud of it – and it makes me even happier when others enjoy it too! Thanks for your comments on Legolas's character, I fought with him while writing this story many times, trying to understand who he was. It's nice to hear from another's perspective that I managed to get it. This story is already extremely long (200+ pages and 120,000+ words on my hard drive) and its been a challenge to keep the plot moving and continuous. These beginning chapters are really a setting up of characters, who Legolas and Estel are. In the next chapter, some more plot devices, etc. will be revealed. Thank you so much for your comments and I hope you continue to read and enjoy!
Ciryaquen: Thanks for commenting and staying with this story despite the time between updates, that means a lot. I hope that the wait for the next chapter will not be so long in coming. And, I'm sure Legolas would love to work for you. Hahaha.
Until Next Time!