Chapter Forty-Six
~ Aragorn~
When I stepped outside, for a moment I hung back in surprise.
Well, not really surprise.
I had known for a while that Legolas and Estel were growing closer, perhaps as close as Eldarion was growing to me. But that was perhaps to be expected; Legolas had a thing for taking to certain people and just . . . taking them under his wing. True, he tended to be cold and distant, but once he warmed, the flame of friendship burned forever – especially as Legolas was immortal.
And his promise to protect Estel in case I was otherwise distracted certainly didn't hurt either.
But it still was a shock to see them both standing there so close together.
They weren't talking; they were just standing there silently. Estel was looking up, I could see, but Legolas . . . he was looking across the plain.
Their friendship was strong, I knew. And it was only going to grow stronger with time.
But I also knew that Éomer had his eye on Estel; I had seen them dancing together, had seen them riding together, and I knew that he had been impressed by Estel and her accomplishments – her fluency in Elvish, her skills in the arts of war, but above all, the traits given to her by her Elvish blood: grace, elegance, beauty.
I hoped that the situation would not turn into conflict.
Éomer was sure to not think too highly of Estel's closeness with Legolas; he still distrusted Elves. And Legolas might not approve of how Éomer courted Estel; the Elven ways and the ways of Men were very different.
And poor Estel, caught in the middle.
Or, I reconsidered, remembering her temper, perhaps poor Legolas and poor Éomer. She was sure not to think well of them arguing over her, dignity or no.
When I joined them, Legolas spoke without looking at me.
"The stars are veiled," he said quietly. "Something stirs in the East. A sleepless malice."
He and I shared a troubled glance. We both knew what he meant, and he voiced it moments later.
"The Eye of the enemy is moving," he pronounced.
"But to where?" Estel asked quietly.
"That," I said, "is a good question, Estel." I shot her a glance. "One I would have thought you, of all people, would know the answer to."
Estel looked down. "~You will know the answer soon enough,~" was her only reply.
Legolas turned to her with a frown. "You know?"
"Yes," she breathed, staring past the both of us as though she was seeing the battle here and now.
We were silent for a moment as Legolas and I stared at her.
She ignored us, watching the distant horizon as Legolas had moments ago, her fingers fiddling with the Elessar she wore around her neck.
Once again, we had forgotten she was a Believer. Once again, we had forgotten her unique background. Once again, we had forgotten that to her this was all a tale – one she had memorized as a little girl. And then had been enslaved, beaten, and violated for.
"Where – " I began.
Then I stopped as a cold shudder crawled up my spine, as though ice had found its way into my shirt and was unnaturally crawling up my spine. It was like a strange cloud had passed over us, one that promised darkness and misery and destruction.
Legolas whirled around. "He is here!" he exclaimed.
Neither of us needed further clarification.
We ran as though wolves were chasing us, and within minutes, we were all bursting into where quarters where the dark feeling emanated.
To my horror, Pippin was rolling on the ground with the palantír.
Only he wasn't just rolling on the ground – he was contorting violently as though liquid fire was being poured into his veins. And the palantír – it was alight with a fiery light as though the Eye of Sauron was manifested through it and staring straight at Pippin.
Estel lunged forward with a strangled cry.
And then the palantír was no longer in Pippin's hands, and Pippin wasn't the only one writhing on the floor.
~ Eldarion ~
Screams shook me from my sleep, followed by a loud bang, like someone had slammed the doors to the chamber open.
"Whassamatter?" I asked groggily, opening one eye.
And then I sat up with a gasp.
Pippin was rolling on the ground in obvious agony, and Estel, Legolas, and Aragorn were in the doorway, faces aghast with horror and surprise and confusion. Mithrandir was also just stirring, awoken by Merry's yells.
Estel suddenly disappeared – and then the glowing palantír was in her hands.
She gasped as though someone had doused her with ice cold water; her eyes rolled back in her head and her knees buckled. She fell to the ground, writhing in agony as Pippin had, her fingers curled around the glowing orb as her arms locked as though she was fighting to keep it away from her.
I tore at my blankets, but they seemed to have tangled themselves about me to prevent from rising. I cursed, not caring who heard, and I fought.
Finally, they gave way.
But Legolas had already beaten me to the chase.
With a curse on his lips, his blue eyes blazing with an inner fire, he became a blur of Elven speed to Estel's side. But the moment he touched her, he yanked back with a cry of pain, as though something had shocked him.
I saw, but I was incapable to stopping. Estel was my sister – I had to do something.
And the moment I touched her, I understood at once why Legolas had yanked back – and I kicked myself for being so stupid as to think I could do something.
When I touched her, a shock coursed through my entire body, and I was suddenly displaced from it and thrust into a swirling desert storm of sparks and sand and ash. The sparks burned me; the sand blinded me; the ash filled my mouth. I choked and batted helplessly at the sparks and swiped at my eyes, but there was nothing to be done.
And all the while, Sauron's awful laughter echoed in my mind and I had the worst feeling, as though he was shoving a white-hot poker through my mind.
Little fool! he said. You thought you could stop me? Witness my power!
Images flashed through my head – my dying father; my burning house; Aragorn plummeting to his death; Boromir falling to his knees, arrows in him; my mother burning; my sister screaming in torture; my father, my father, my father dying and screaming and begging for help, blood pouring from him like sweat, his body broken and burned and beaten, his consciousness curled into a fetal ball battered from all sides –
"Eldarion!" came the roar.
With a start, I came to myself.
Aragorn's hand gripped my shoulder so tightly that I winced belatedly. My tongue felt like iron dusted with rust, dust, and fuzz, and I felt at once burning hot and icy cold – but I was free from Sauron's hold.
I sat up slowly, with Aragorn watching with me with a nervous, cautious eye.
The palantír lay under Mithrandir's cloak, and I realized that Aragorn had risked Sauron's wrath himself by jerking me away from it.
"Fool of a Took!" Mithrandir said furiously, passing us.
Merry was shaking Pippin, who seemed paralyzed or comatose; but in either case, he wasn't moving.
I blew a long breath. "What – happened?" I asked shakily.
Aragorn looked at me worriedly. "I'm not quite sure," he replied. "When you touched Estel, you started screaming immediately. I yanked you off and then you just . . . blacked out completely. Are you okay?"
I flexed my hands, arms, and legs slowly, making sure they still worked. Then I worked my jaw, wishing for a drink of water so I could get rid of the weird, metallic taste in my mouth.
"I think so," I said finally.
There was a cry of fright, and we all looked up. Pippin was awake now, and looking around wildly. Mithrandir loomed over him, holding one of his hands, obviously having done some sort of spell or something to revive the Hobbit.
"Look at me."
"Gandalf!" he breathed. "Forgive me!"
"Look at me," Mithrandir ordered. "What did you see?"
"A tree. . . There was a white tree in a courtyard of stone. . . It was dead. The city was burning."
"Minas Tirith?" Mithrandir muttered quietly, and Aragorn and I shared looks of alarm at the mention of the city. "Is that what you saw?"
"I saw . . . I saw Him! I could hear His voice in my head!" Pippin exclaimed in fear.
"And what did you tell Him?" Mithrandir shook Pippin, fury and fear mixing terribly on his face. "Speak!"
"He asked me my name. I didn't answer." Fear entered the Hobbit's face. "He hurt me!"
"What did you tell Him about Frodo and the Ring?"
Pippin didn't answer, his eyes wide with fright, while the rest of us waited with bated breath. Frodo and Sam – they were our only chance, our secret weapon, our last resort. If Sauron had gone through Pippin's mind and found out. . .
"Answer me!" Mithrandir commanded, shaking Pippin again.
"Nothing! I swear, I said nothing!"
I heard Aragorn breathe a long sigh of relief by my side as he took his hand off of my shoulder, relaxing to sit on the floor like me..
"Are you absolutely certain?" Mithrandir pressed.
"I said nothing! And he hurt me," Pippin added. "But I said nothing – I'd swear it!"
Mithrandir examined Pippin's face for a moment before nodding shortly and rising. His eyes found me at once.
"Eldarion – did you see anything out of the ordinary?" he questioned.
I shook my head. "Nothing like what Pippin said," I answered. "I saw only images from . . . from my past. Not anything else. And I would know if I saw Minas Tirith."
"Are you – " Mithrandir started to press.
"Mithrandir, now is not the time for this!" came Legolas's voice.
I turned to him, as did everyone else, wondering at the fear in his normally calm voice – and then my heart stopped dead. Completely.
For cradled in Legolas's arms, as limp as a doll, eyes closed, was Estel.