Chapter 12: Choices
The tension in the underground palace weighed heavier than the mountain on top of them. Mornince's words echoed in Elrond's head. 'If Legolas dies'…Elladan and all the other elves would be lost. Legolas had come close already, and suddenly Elrond felt the urge to rush back to the healing ward and check on the prince.
"Well, Thranduil?" Mornince spoke up, holding out her hand suggestively. "Would you like a peek?"
Thranduil stared at her hard for a long moment, in which Elrond was afraid the Elvenking would do something brash. Glorfindel had shifted his posture so that he appeared ready to move against either the elf-witch or Thranduil himself. But the Sindarin lord had not survived his millennia by faltering under dire circumstances.
"Seize them," he said. The command was given in a low voice, though the guards heard. Their attention was focused on the threat, and so Elrond was the only one who noticed the hollow look in Thranduil's eye; he would've accepted Mornince's terms had he not still had half a kingdom to protect. But Thranduil, son of Oropher, would uphold his duty until the very end, even if it destroyed his soul.
Mirkwood warriors converged on Mornince. With a snarl, she swung her arms out, and every elf within ten feet were flung violently to the ground, including Glorfindel. Elrond gripped Thranduil's arm and wrenched him back a step. Yet Mornince did not advance on them, nor did she attempt to flee. Rather, she spun on her heel and began running down the corridor. Despite being unarmed, Elrond and Thranduil bolted after her.
Guards leaped from platforms above and down the stairs, but Mornince intercepted the first, bending the elf's wrist back until it cracked. He dropped his knife with a grunt, and Mornince snatched it up. She whirled, stabbing the next warrior to attack. Glancing back at the elves in pursuit, she shot a hand out, and Elrond felt an invisible force slam into his chest. He went sprawling to the ground in a heap next to Thranduil.
A figure vaulted over him, blond hair whipping like sails as Glorfindel swung his sword at the sorceress. Mornince barely brought her stolen knife up to block, and the clang of steel rang out. Glorfindel bore down on Mornince relentlessly, driving her back step by step. She was quick and managed to avoid his blows, until at last he scored a mark across her stomach.
Mornince staggered back in shock and rage. Her eyes sparked, and she spat a word Elrond did not understand, but he felt its evilness wobble the air. Black smoke spewed from Mornince's fingertips to assault Glorfindel. The elf lord tried to wield his sword against it, but the mist-like entity merely dissipated around the blade while seeming to solidify into talons the next instant. Glorfindel grunted as they raked across his arms and chest.
Elrond frantically looked around for a weapon to use against such a creature, and spotted a small pool of water beneath one of the bridges. While he did not wish to reveal Vilya to Mornince, he could not allow her dark magic to gravely injure his friend. The elvish words fell from his lips like a cascade, activating the ring's power over the elements. A column of water coiled up from the pool, and Elrond tossed it indelicately at Glorfindel and the smoke creature. Some of it splattered the Ñoldo warrior in the face, but the mist was effectively doused. Elrond snapped his attention to Mornince, grimly finding her staring hungrily back at him.
"Father!" a voice broke through the brief lull in fighting. "You must come quickly!"
Elrond's eyes widened as Elrohir came sprinting down the passage. Before he could shout a warning, Mornince had whirled around, knife still in hand. In Elrohir's obvious panic—which set off distant warnings in the back of Elrond's mind—he did not process that this female elf was a threat until it was too late.
Mornince ran at Elrohir, and he slowed in dismay as she lashed out to grab his arm, twisting him around against her chest and bringing the blade up to his neck.
"No!" Elrond had started forward, but stopped short when Elrohir gasped from Mornince pressing the knife harder against his pale skin.
She angled a curious look at her captive, then back at Elrond. "Well, it seems I now have the sons of both elf lords in my grasp."
Elrohir sputtered in surprise, alarmed eyes finding Elrond's. Elrond silently pleaded with his son to stay quiet. Glorfindel had recovered, and now stood by Elrond's side, sword raised but shaking slightly as his chest heaved. Thranduil was also on his feet again, as were the dozen or so Mirkwood warriors who'd caught up to them, weapons raised and trained on the elf-witch.
Mornince's lips lifted in a manic grin. "Thranduil was willing to pass on the chance to help his son. What about you, Lord Elrond?"
Elrond clenched his fists, knowing what she was about to ask. But he could not hand over Vilya, for the destruction Mornince would wreak with it would poison the ring of power to as much detriment as Sauron could with the One Ring.
"I know what you carry," she continued.
Elrohir shot his father a terrified, desperate look…but it wasn't for himself. He had guessed what this strange elf wanted, and knew Elrond could not give it. Yet there was another layer of panic in that gaze, and Elrohir kept fidgeting as though to look over his shoulder, despite the knife poised precariously at his throat. Elrond suddenly felt cold.
Thranduil had a hand up to stay his archers, his flinty expression waiting for Elrond. All he had to do was give the word, and Thranduil would order his warriors to fire. But elven reflexes worked both ways, and Mornince could easily slit Elrohir's throat before she was slain. Yet they could not continue this stand-off indefinitely, especially with the sense of foreboding now creeping down Elrond's spine. Elladan…
Mornince rotated the blade and nicked Elrohir's neck, drawing forth a thin line of blood. The young elf gritted his teeth against making any sound, but it did not stop the burn inside Elrond's chest as he watched helplessly.
Mornince licked her lips, eyes glittering between Elrond's face and the hand that bore the sapphire ring. With Vilya, she could complete her destruction of the Woodland Realm. "Make your choice."
Gandalf held on for dear life as the sled jounced over uneven ground and careened through the air at neck-breaking speed. He was grateful for the swiftness of Rhosgobel rabbits, he truly was…as long as they didn't accidentally crash along the way. Norman the fox was a tight, terrified ball of fluff in the crook of Gandalf's arm, while Radagast whooped from the driving bow, egging the hares onward. The forest whipped by in blurs of browns and greens, like a warped vortex twisting around them.
Finally the rabbits leaped through a gap in the trees and scrabbled to put on the brakes before they reached the bridge to the palace gates. The sled skidded sideways, jolting to an abrupt halt at the edge of the gorge. When Gandalf's head managed to stop spinning, he looked up and noticed the doors to the mountain hanging wide open, but there was no sign of any guards responding to the commotion outside.
He scrambled off the sleigh, depositing the fox in the cargo bed, and gripped his staff tightly as he sprinted across the bridge.
"Stay put, Norman!" Radagast called, and hurried after him.
Gandalf vaguely heard the fox barking something furiously, perhaps a protest, but he paid it no mind. The wizards burst into the palace, and Gandalf whipped his head around. Where was everyone? He could practically taste the acrid stench of black magic on the air, and his heart skipped for fear. Whirling, he sprinted toward the healing ward.
Halfway there, he finally spotted a gathering of elves centered around something, weapons drawn. When Gandalf drew closer and spotted Elrohir being held at knifepoint by a female elf, he did not hesitate to thrust his staff toward Mornince with a shout. Light pulsed from the crystal in the crown with the force of a nova, filling the cavern with whiteness and blinding everyone. Gandalf surged forward before the light had fully dissipated, though when it did, he spotted Elrohir on the ground, having wrenched away from Mornince who still had both arms up to shield her eyes.
Perhaps she heard Gandalf's stern footsteps, for she jerked back and spat a curse that sent a wave of powerful magic back at the Grey Wizard. He tried to block, but the impact still cracked the air like thunder, and he flipped backwards, knocking the wind from his lungs when he landed. The concussive force swept out to flatten every elf in the vicinity as well. Grunting, Gandalf pushed himself onto his elbow and reached for his staff, which had fallen beside him.
A soft shoe kicked it away, and then stepped on his chest to shove him back down. "I see I underestimated you, Mithrandir," Mornince sneered. Her dark eyes crackled with gathering power as she extended her palms toward him.
Gandalf lifted his head, and his beard twitched with a smug smirk. "Not me."
Mornince frowned, and as Gandalf flicked a look behind her, she turned, only to be stopped by the end of Radagast's staff. The Brown Wizard shot her a glare of righteous indignation before jabbing her sharply in the abdomen and uttering a spell. Gandalf snatched up his staff and thrust the end toward her back. The aligned wizard's rods sparked with a magnetic explosion, and Mornince let out a raging scream. Lightning forked through her body and out her mouth, and when it winked out, she crumpled to the ground. Vacant eyes stared into a starless heaven, tendrils of smoke curling up from her body.
"Hmph," Radagast huffed. Then he turned and offered Gandalf a hand up. "Sorry, Gandalf, I might have overdone my part in that."
"No, no, not at all," he replied. "You did well, Radagast."
The Brown Wizard turned in a slow circle. "Where is the human whelp that was helping her?" he asked, tone promising violent vengeance to the man.
Gandalf swept his gaze over the elves as they began pushing themselves off the ground, casting bewildered looks at the wizards and the defeated elf-witch. Elrond hurried to crouch down next to Elrohir. Hm, there was no sign of Cain.
"Gandalf," Glorfindel exclaimed. "We feared you and Radagast had perished."
He harrumphed. "Not that easily." Gandalf arched a brow at the elf-lord's disheveled and slightly bloody appearance, then at Elrohir, who seemed mostly unharmed. They'd arrived not a moment too soon.
"Father!" Elrohir shouted earnestly, gripping Elrond's arms. "What I came to tell you—Elladan and Legolas are struggling to breathe. I think they're fading!"
Elrond visibly paled, and then he and Thranduil were bolting for the healing ward. Gandalf hurried after them. Perhaps a moment sooner would have been better.
When Gandalf entered the infirmary, his pulse spiked at the sight of the still, pale forms who looked far more ashen since last he'd seen them. Elrond checked Elladan first, then Legolas, mouth pinching in obvious distress as he could not work on both at the same time.
Thranduil went to Legolas, reaching out a tentative hand. Then he lifted his gaze to take in the elves still lying comatose in the other beds and on the floor in the corners. "The spell did not break with her death," he said dispiritedly. "She has still won."
Gandalf pulled his shoulders back. "She has not. I know how we may still overcome this."
Elrond's expression sharpened. "How?"
Gandalf pushed forward between the beds, placing a hand first on Legolas's brow, then Elladan's, questing with his senses now that he understood the nature of their condition. "They must be together."
"Together?" Elrohir repeatedly dumbly.
"The elf-witch behind the spell said she'd trapped them in a dreamscape," Glorfindel said, sending a questioning look toward the wizards.
"Yes," Gandalf confirmed. "Elrond, I need you to set aside your concern for Elladan and help us here. It is the only way to save them both."
A muscle in the elf-lord's jaw ticked, but he tore his gaze away from his fading son and squared his shoulders. "What must we do?"
"I know the spell Mornince cast," Gandalf replied. "Radagast and I can create a breach into the dream world she created, and we'll need you to use Vilya to channel strength through to Legolas and those with him. He is the key to breaking the curse completely."
"Then she was telling the truth about a gatekeeper?" Thranduil asked.
Gandalf arched a brow, somewhat surprised she would have told them that, but perhaps she had been taunting the Elvenking. "Aye. Radagast and I will be able to manipulate the construct slightly, enough to help Legolas find the door." He nodded to the Brown Wizard, who took up position on the other side of Legolas's bed.
"Can you send someone through the breach you'll create?"
Gandalf snapped a startled look at Thranduil. The Elvenking's jaw was set with staunch determination as he stared back at the wizard.
"Thranduil," Elrond interjected. "That is too dangerous. If you were to be trapped too…"
"Or I can open the gate just as Legolas can, because we are of the same blood." He flashed Gandalf a dark glare. "Well? Can you?"
The Grey Wizard frowned thoughtfully. He had not considered it before, but from what he knew of the curse, Thranduil could very well serve as the key as well. It was risky, but given Legolas's rapidly weakening condition…
"Yes," he replied.
Glorfindel stepped forward. "I will go with you."
Thranduil started shaking his head. "You are injured."
"Not severely, and I am well acquainted with spirit travel," the Ñoldo warrior protested. "There are aspects that will be disorienting for anyone who's not experienced it before."
"Hm, he makes a valid point," Radagast put in.
"I will go too!" Elrohir exclaimed.
"No," Elrond snapped, but then put a gentle hand on his son's shoulder. "I need you here. Your bond with Elladan will lend him strength, and I cannot sustain both him and Legolas for long." Elrond furrowed his brow, eyes flicking to the cut on Elrohir's neck. "Can you do that?"
Elrohir lifted his chin and stubbornly nodded. "Yes."
"Well then let's begin!" Gandalf groused. "We are running out of time." He gestured impatiently for Thranduil and Glorfindel to take a seat in the chairs by the bed. "Each of you take Legolas's hand," he instructed. "Elrond, Elrohir, stand here."
The wizards extended their arms over the prince. Elrond placed the hand that wore Vilya over Legolas's brow, his other on Thranduil's shoulder, while Elrohir rested his palms on Legolas's chest and Glorfindel's arm.
"May the Grace of the Valar protect you," Gandalf mumbled before nodding to Radagast, and the two closed their eyes to begin their chant. The veil into the sorceress's dreamscape appeared in Gandalf's mind, along with the pulsing auras of him and Radagast as they built up power. The golden hues of the waiting elves lingered in the background. Taking a deep breath, Gandalf wove his and Radagast's magic with the spirits of Thranduil and Glorfindel, and then punched through the veil with them.