Chapter Sixty-Five
~ Estel ~
"Where are they?"
When Pippin voiced the thought we were all thinking, I could feel the tension in the air multiply substantially among us. Even Legolas – my calm, stoic, impassive Legolas – shifted slightly behind me, the hand that had been calmly resting on my knee tensing somewhat. And he had been calm throughout the entire, almost day-long slog to Mordor, so for him to tense now of all times spoke to the truth of his inner feelings of what was coming – and how he felt about me getting into the thick of it.
But Aragorn simply spurred his horse forward without looking back.
I felt a whisper of a sigh on my neck. "~Follow him,~" Legolas murmured, so softly I barely heard. "~Before he does something foolish.~"
"~I agree,~" I whispered back.
We weren't the only ones. Within minutes, Éomer, Gandalf, Eldarion, and Gimli followed as well. Only Haldir and Tinúviel stayed behind, and I got the feeling that it was because Haldir had weighed the pros of going with the cons of risking my sister and had decided it was better to protect her.
We had just halted when Aragorn raised his voice and called, "Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth! Let justice be done upon him!"
For a moment, there was silence.
Then the gate started to creak ever so slowly open.
Legolas's breathing accelerated, and one of his arms slipped around my waist to pull me against his. I leaned against him, away from whatever this new horror would be – dying to know and dying to never see.
A single rider approached us slowly from the gate, clad in a full set of armor atop a dark horse.
Once I saw, I felt again that urge to never stop looking and to run as far away as possible – or to hide my face in Legolas's chest.
The only part of the rider was his bloody, expanded, disgusting mouth.
The Mouth of Sauron, the legends called him.
Now I knew why.
The bloody mouth opened, and the foulest voice emanated. I shivered; its voice rasped against my ears and very soul, in the worst possible way.
"My master, Sauron the Great, bids you welcome," it said. Then it made a show of looking around at us – at least, it looked like it was – like it was superior to us. "Is there any in this rout with the authority to treat with me?"
"We do not come to treat with Sauron, faithless and accursed," Mithrandir retorted, his voice strong and arousing compared to the rasping quality of the Mouth of Sauron. It helped me shake off the stupor of shock and focus once more. "Tell your master this: The armies of Mordor must disband. He is to depart these lands, never to return."
The Mouth's teeth curled into a smile. "Old Greybeard." It seemed to gasp in recognition – probably for show. "I have a token I was bidden to show thee."
A pure-white mithril shirt hung in its hands.
For a second I stared at it. For some reason, it looked . . . familiar.
Then someone whispered, "Frodo."
I felt the blood drain from my face. That was why it was familiar – this had been Frodo's mithril shirt, the shirt that had saved him in Moria, the one that his uncle had given him before he had left with the Fellowship in Imladris.
He would never have parted with it willingly.
The Mouth of Sauron tossed the shirt almost like garbage to Mithrandir, who caught it and gripped it as though he was trying to see whether it was a fake – or perhaps trying to ascertain for himself a way to escape the grasp of grief that was now setting in. Only it wasn't just for him; it was for all of us.
"Frodo!" Pippin cried out.
"Silence," Mithrandir told him – told all of us.
But Merry had already spoken, already having reacted to Pippin's cry. "No!" he echoed.
"Silence!" Mithrandir thundered.
I turned my face into Legolas's shirt for a moment, trying to relieve the grief I felt without letting it be seen – or at least all of it be seen. Legolas's hands tightened where they rested over my own, letting me know he felt it too.
The others reacted too. Aragorn's face was pale with shock and horror; Eldarion, filled with rage and torn between attacking down and condemning us all to death or not attacking and not seeking revenge for Frodo. Gimli looked about ready to chuck his axe into the Mouth of Sauron, and his expression looked so real that I felt I should be ducking about now. Even Éomer, who knew next to nothing about the whole business, was tense with worry, fear, and anguish, the reins bunched tightly in one hand and the sword hilt digging into his palm in the other.
The Mouth of Sauron's grin only widened. It had gotten the reactions it wanted from us with the appearance of Frodo's shirt. The balance of power was shifting – and in its direction.
Smoothly and smugly, it said, its tone full of false sympathy, "The halfling was dear to thee, I see. Know that he suffered greatly at the hands of his host. Who would have thought one so small could endure so much pain?"
The Mouth laughed wickedly at our clear displays of despair and horror and anguish, directing his next, brutal words at Mithrandir, where tears were already beginning to fall: "And he did, Gandalf. He did."
The Mouth left to laughing – and final the tension snapped.
An arrow sprouted in its mount's side; the horse shrieked in pain and terror and nearly threw off the mouth.
Eldarion spurred his horse forward, his sword already in hand, his bow hastily stowed in the quiver. "You lie, traitor!" he shouted. "You lie! Sauron knows nothing of Frodo, nor of where he is or what he does!"
"Well, well, who is this?" the Mouth said, amused and calming his horse with a quick swat.
Eldarion's eyes flashed. "I am Eldarion Elessarion, heir to the House of Telcontar, and I know of the lies you speak, for if Sauron had the Ring of Power, he would face us now."
The Mouth seemed to falter somewhat at his declaration.
After all, the House of Telcontar did not yet exist. Aragorn, as King Elessar, would found it through his son and heir with Lady Arwen, Prince Eldarion, to replace the House of Elendil. But my family was truthfully of that bloodline.
"'Strider'?" Legolas hissed in my ear, easily having understood my brother's declaration and the Quenya it came from.
I forced a soft cough to replace my laugh. "~Blame Merry and Pippin.~"
"Hmm."
But then the Mouth laughed again, and it was derisiveness mixed with sadistic pleasure. I cringed into Legolas, knowing that something terrible was about to happen. Surely Sauron did not know of our real circumstances?
"Ah, yes – my master told me of you as well," the Mouth said, its smile still wide. "Scion of the Elves and – ah, yes, little hope."
I felt his eyes on me, and I shrunk even further back against Legolas.
Legolas, in turn, leaned slightly forward, anger in his stance, and his breath hissed out from him in warning.
The Mouth let out another derisive cackle. "Shrink back all you like, little hope, but it will change nothing. The master, Sauron the Great, has Seen you and he knows who you are. The little trinkets of the Elves will not save you in the end."
Automatically, my fingers curled to the Elessar.
"Yes," the Mouth said, noticing. "The Elfstone. It will do you no good. The Elves will fall – and with it, your 'House of Telcontar'."
"Silence!" Eldarion shouted, redirecting the Mouth of Sauron's attention, which probably was his goal.
"Ah, yes. I believe the time has passed for talking on this matter." He held up a finger, as if remembering something important – as he had when he had given us Frodo's shirt. "I have a gift for you as well."
It raised a hand, lazily.
Shouts rose from the Uruk-hai stationed on the wall, and then more shouts rang out. Then raucous laughter sounded as the gates creaked ever so slowly open. Six Uruk-hai came through, four flanking the strange triad of people in the middle – two Uruk-hai, dragging . . . something. I wasn't even sure if it was a person.
The Elessar on my neck suddenly warmed. It did not burn, but it warmed slightly.
Then the Uruk-hai tossed the thing to the ground in front of the Mouth of Sauron. He or she or whatever it was did not stir, though that was understandable in its pitiable condition.
The Mouth of Sauron waved dismissively at the figure.
"This was one of the prisoners," it said lazily. "I think it would appreciate freedom now – after it, it won't get it any other time. That is, if you're serious about trying to take on the Dark Lord Sauron, Lord of Middle-earth and all realms therein." It turned to the Uruk-hai. "Get it to speak."
The Uruk-hai stepped forward, laughing, and brutally kicked the figure right in the chest. The person gasped in time to a sickening snapping sound.
"Name," the Mouth hissed smugly.
"No," the person mumbled, the voice dazed with pain and confusion – but still familiar . . . in an odd way.
The Uruk-hai stepped on the person's leg, and there was another crack, this one ringing through our ears and making us all flinch.
"Speak!" the Mouth commanded.
The person didn't reply, curling inward with an agonized cry as bloody fingers clutched at a mangled leg in a pitiful attempt to try and alleviate the pain. Legolas flinched again behind me, his ears far more sensitive to the cry than my own.
The Elessar was practically burning now, shimmering dimly against my clothes. It was trying to tell me something, something important – but what? What could possibly . . .
The voice clicked.
I threw myself off of our horse, nearly making it rear as I scrambled off.
But I didn't care. My entire world had ceased to exist before my eyes – my loyalty to Aragorn, my affection for Eldarion and my mother and Tinúúviel, my love for Legolas, my respect for Mithrandir, my comradeship with Éomer and Éowyn and Gimli, my fear and hate of the Mouth of Sauron, my pride in my lineage, my knowledge of the past – all gone.
My whole vision was filled by the dirty, bleeding, broken man in front of me.
"Father!"