The War of Light and Shadow
By Freddie23
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Disclaimer: I own nothing Tolkien created.
Thank you all for your reviews. Much appreciated. Here's Chapter 9 for you all. I'm afraid we're not out of the dark just yet… Enjoy it.
OIOIOI
Chapter 9 – From The Dark
"What the…?" the leader, still straddled indelicately over Aragorn, exclaimed, looking around in the darkness.
Before the Men could come close to thinking about picking up their weapons, another arrow pierced the heart of one of the Men, this time coming from an entirely different direction to the first.
"We're surrounded," one of the Men yelled as they scrambled about for their weapons, keeping low to the ground.
"Get them, then," their leader yelled angrily, jumping up from Aragorn and hastily doing up his belt to keep his trousers from falling down. He ran – or rather stumbled - towards the fire, over which now indistinguishable human meat still cooked. Grabbing up a rusty sword from the ground, he whirled around desperately as his companions fanned out to search the darkness for the attackers.
Suddenly, more arrows shot out from the darkness, this time taking down five more men in quick succession. Cries sounded as the men fell to the ground, the shots aimed to kill not disable. They lost any bravery they'd momentarily possessed then and retreated closer together towards the fire and light, which although comforting, was probably their downfall as it made them even easier targets for the shooters.
"Where are they?" the leader demanded of his equally clueless followers. Two more arrows shot out of the darkness directly in front of them, bringing down two more of the men. "Come out and fight us properly, cowards!" he shouted into the hot darkness, his voice trembling slightly in spite of his bravado.
This was not a good invitation to make. Suddenly, out of the night came a tall man, gold hair and silver weapons glinting in the light of the fire, moving fast. Blue eyes were hard as steel. The men trembled at the sight, taking frightened steps backwards, away from the imposing sight.
Aragorn watched in utter amazement – and no small amount of relief – as Legolas, fierce and brilliant, charged unrelentingly at the Men. Aragorn wanted to shout at him, to warn him but he could do nothing but murmur incoherently from behind his gag.
Legolas did not hesitate for even a second as the men clumsily lunged at him, their weapons drawn. He slashed at them with deadly sharp blades, easily overpowering them with fast, precise movements honed over the centuries to absolute perfection. They fell without putting up much of a fight, already scared stiff by the fearsome anger burning in the man's eyes and on his face. They had never seen such fury. Not that they had long to dwell on it. White knives, shining with the flickering orange light of the fire shed blood with a speed that terrified those who stood long enough to witness it.
Once all the men were down, Legolas turned slowly to face Aragorn, apparently able to see into the darkness. Stepping over the bodied he had dispatched, Legolas walked steadily over to his charge, his breathing only slightly laboured from his exertions.
Relief swept over Aragorn, so much so that through his disgusting, muffling gag, he sobbed wretchedly. But then blessed relief turned to absolute horror and he started shaking his head frantically and renewing his agonising struggles to get free of the trap, shouting into the filthy cloth in both warning to his guardian and sheer pain.
Legolas needed no warning though. He whirled on the leader of the Men, who had survived his initial assault – perhaps by design – his eyes flashing with unrestrained anger.
Throwing himself at the man with an almost savage, primal yell, Legolas knocked the loathsome human to the ground, snatching his weapon from his hand and tossing it aside easily. When the now defenceless man struggled beneath him, Legolas slammed his fist into the filthy face.
"Get off of me," the man grunted, shoving uselessly against the Elf.
"You laid your foul hands on him," Legolas accused in a growl, punctuated with another punch.
The foolish man chuckled, blood spattering down his chin from multiple broken teeth. "Yours, is he?"
Legolas shouted in anger, hitting the man again. "You disgust me!"
"Pretty boy."
"I am going to kill you," Legolas told him in a low, dangerous voice.
Barking shortly in laughter, the man craned his neck so that his face was so close to Legolas that in the semi-darkness, the Elf could see every detail of his awful features. "It was worth it," he said in a gurgling, amused whisper through the blood pooling in his throat.
With hatred burning more fiercely than he had felt in a long time in his veins, Legolas finished the abhorrent man off. The crack that resounded in the otherwise quiet night made Aragorn visibly flinch as Legolas snapped the neck of his abuser.
The silence that followed was thick with tension. For what seemed like a long time, Legolas crouched over the dead man, his breathing heavy. It was only when he heard a muffled whimper from nearby that Legolas climbed to his feet and turned once more to face Aragorn.
Seeing the innocent boy bound and trapped made Legolas' blood boil with anger at the human abusers and he longed to kill them all over again just for the sheer joy of it. However, he shoved this desire aside and dropped his white-handled knives, now dripping with fresh blood, to the ground. Legolas ran over to the boy, falling to his knees by his side. Realising that his release was near, Aragorn started to get out of the ropes that held him again, crying out at the pain in his ankle that these actions caused.
"Hold still," Legolas told him, reaching for the gag.
"Get me out," Aragorn shouted from around the filthy cloth shoved in his mouth, struggling even harder than before.
He didn't think this pitiful cry could be understood but Legolas took ahold of his arms, trying to ease his movements. "I am going to get you out but you have to hold still, alright?" Trembling through his continuing cries, Aragorn nodded shakily, finding solace in Legolas' eyes, which stared calmly at him. "Alright."
Abandoning untying the bonds for the time being, Legolas reached up and snatched the edge of the rag in Aragorn's mouth and pulled it out. Aragorn very nearly choked when it was pulled free. He could hardly catch his breath, even though he gulped in great lungfuls of hot air, retching repeatedly at the smell of roasting flesh wafting around him and also crying in sheer relief at being free.
"Just breathe," Legolas reassured, rubbing Aragorn's arm as the boy cried.
Finally, the young man gained his breath and looked up at his protector in pure astonishment. He couldn't quite believe that Legolas was actually here. The Elf had gone. They had walked away from one another. And yet here his guardian was, saving his life yet again.
"Legolas?" the man cried.
"I'm here. Just hold still while I untie you."
"How…?"
Ignoring the question, Legolas pulled out a dagger from his belt and sliced through the ropes binding Aragorn's hands together. The moment they were free, Legolas found himself wrapped in the boy's arms, being held so tight that it knocked the breath out of him.
"I'm so sorry," Aragorn sobbed pitifully into Legolas' chest.
"It's going to be alright now."
"I'm sorry. Please forgive me."
Legolas pulled back, laying his hands on either side of Aragorn's tear-stained face. "We can talk about this later. Right now we have to get you out of here before more of them come."
Aragorn nodded weakly and said in a trembling voice, "My leg."
"I know. Keep still while I take a look."
As Legolas moved down to better see the boy's ankle, Aragorn grabbed his arm suddenly. "Don't leave me."
"Don't worry; I'm not going anywhere."
Legolas shifted down to see Aragorn's ankle caught in the horrible trap. The foot was a bloodied mess after all of Aragorn's frantic pulling to get free and Legolas winced at the pain the boy must be in by now.
Nevertheless, deft fingers felt the ancient metal snare for weaknesses but despite its rusted ago it was solid, unbreakable. His fingertips drifted over a small, shaped hole in the joint of the jaws. A lock.
"There must be a key somewhere," the Elf muttered to himself. "Have you seen a key?"
"No," Aragorn whimpered tearfully. "Please get me out," the boy cried pitifully, tugging feebly at his trapped leg.
"I will but you must hold still. Don't pull. Just sit still. I have to search these Men for a key. I will be just over there."
"Within shouting distance," Aragorn's voice trembled, a very small smile flitting over pale lips.
Laying the palm of his hand gently against Aragorn's face, Legolas smiled in return and said softly, "Within shouting distance." He remembered enforcing that rule in Aragorn when he had first taken charge of the young life – apparently the boy had at last decided the rule was not 'ridiculous' as he once claimed in his frustrated youth.
The Elf rifled methodically through the pockets of the Men, restraining the anger at the beings that still burned hot in his chest, until around the neck of a particularly young man, he found on a piece of dirty, frayed string, a round iron key hanging. Ripping it off of the bloody, dead boy, Legolas ran back to Aragorn who had remained still but who was staring wildly out into the dark, waiting anxiously for his guardian's return.
"Legolas, get me out."
"I am. Key." He shoved the key down into the lock, twisting until he heard a mechanical click.
Immediately, he felt Aragorn tug to get loose but he grabbed the man's leg to prevent movement. "No, wait just a moment."
"It hurts," Aragorn whimpered, the full force of his pain hitting him again and he cried out loud through the force of it.
Legolas nodded in sympathy. "I know. Now, I'm going to prise this apart as carefully as I can and then I need you to pull your leg free. Can you do that?"
"Yes."
"Alright. Here we go."
"Legolas, I…"
"Hold the apologies for later," Legolas interrupted, recognising what was coming. "Right; on three."
And on the count of three Legolas used all his strength to pull the jaws of the heavy trap apart, wincing when the spikes tugged cruelly at Aragorn's torn flesh and the boy howled in agony. The contraption was heavier than expected but with trembling arms he slowly managed to pull it open far enough for Aragorn to be able to drag himself free.
The boy had to claw at the dry ground to pull himself away from the contraption. Breathing heavily and crying in pain, Aragorn heard the heavy clamp slam closed again a moment later and he flinched, half expecting crushing agony to erupt around his ankle again but thankfully it did not. He should have known Legolas would not have let go if he were not out of the way.
Fallen on his front when he'd struggled loose, Aragorn could not find the strength to move for a long time and as he retched and cried, he felt Legolas crouch at his side, rubbing his back soothingly and stroking his hair until he calmed down.
Once he had gained his breath again, although remained laid on the ground through his weakness, he felt Legolas lift his injured foot, resting it on his lap so he could wrap a length of cloth around the bloody mess. Then the Elf lowered his foot to the ground with such incredible gentleness that it didn't even jar and cause more pain, and then he felt confident hands on his arms.
"Aragorn, we have to go now. Can you stand?"
The boy nodded weakly so Legolas helped him stand up, bending to retrieve his blood-coated white knives from where they lay momentarily forgotten on the ground.
"Wait. They took my bag," Aragorn shakily told his guardian.
"I'll come back…"
"No! He has…" Aragorn pointed towards the dead man by the fire, the leader who'd been straddling him upon Legolas' arrival.
"What?"
Using Legolas for support as he hopped painfully along, Aragorn went towards the fire, choking on the sickening smell of roasting human flesh and trying desperately to keep his eyes averted from the half-eaten meal steaming on the spit. He did notice Legolas' eyes taking in the disgusting sight and saw the Elf's jaw clench tightly at the sight. And yet Legolas did not look scared. Aragorn didn't know how this could be possible given what he was looking at. The thought that perhaps Legolas had seen something similar – or perhaps something worse – in his past, made Aragorn shudder.
"Alright, sit here; I'll get your bag."
Legolas walked off then, quickly snatching up the stolen bag and picking up all the things the leader of the Men had scattered about. He turned around to see Aragorn, now sat right next to the bloodied corpse of the human leader, holding in his hand a small, golden ring, shining almost red in the firelight.
A shudder ripped inexplicably through him.
"What is that?" the Elf asked in a tight voice, once more standing before Aragorn.
The boy startled as if he had been in an entirely different place and forgot that his guardian even existed, and clenched his hand around the golden band. Shoving it back into the leather pouch, which he in turn carefully put away in his pocket, Aragorn shook his head dismissively. "Nothing. Just a gift…my father gave to me," he answered. He couldn't help but frown at the strange expression on Legolas' face – one he was entirely unfamiliar with. "What's wrong?" he asked innocently.
Legolas shook his head slowly and cleared his throat. "Uh, nothing's wrong. Let's just get out of here."
The cold chill inside of him intensified as he turned away from the young man.
So this was what Arathorn had meant about the boy needing protection from himself. Suddenly, Legolas felt the weight of his responsibility intensify beyond all else.
"Legolas?" Aragorn asked in concern as the Elf continued to ignore him. Now that he had his father's most precious possession back he was eager to leave this place of death. "Can we go?"
"Yes. Yes, let's go," the Elf said, breaking from his seeming trance and turning back to face his ward. He stepped forward to help the boy to his feet again, letting Aragorn lean on him for support and balance.
Leaving the horrendous campsite behind with no small amount of relief, they walked – or in Aragorn's case, hopped - away into the darkness. Aragorn didn't know where they were headed but he prayed that they would get there soon as red hot agony was pulsing up his leg from his abused ankle. He could barely see the rugged ground beneath him in the dead of night but Legolas never once let him trip. The Elf walked steadily and silently, taking as much of Aragorn's weight as the man needed. Aragorn longed to break the tense silence between them, to beg for forgiveness for his previous words and rash actions, but his pain-fevered mind couldn't think up a good enough way to say what he wanted to, so he settled for keeping his silence, concentrating simply on hopping forwards instead.
He got further under his own steam than he thought he would before he felt the world tilt.
Legolas was not surprised when the boy collapsed limply against him. Ready hands caught him easily, gently lowering his limp body to the ground so that he could lift the child up into his arms. It was at least another league before he would reach the place where he had stored his own belongings and that he considered to be a safe haven. Legolas welcomed the distance; not because he was afraid that more Men might come after them in wake of his slaughter of their kin nor because of the horror he'd left behind but because the distance gave him time to think upon what he had learned this night.
Those words that Arathorn had mumbled to him in his final few moments, when carefully out of his son's earshot, became all the more poignant now. He was certain that Aragorn did not know what it was that he now possessed and equally sure that Arathorn did not know what exactly he had passed down to his son. This made Legolas angry. What kind of father would lay that sort of burden on his child?
The ancient line of Human Kings, those who had long ago faded into legend after the downfall of the final King, was fated to return to the throne one day, this much Legolas had known even before he had met the man and his son on the road, for such tales of Human folly had been favourites within Thranduil's court in his homeland. Arathorn had held the ancient, albeit greatly diluted over time, bloodline and so now did Aragorn. Royal blood flowed in the veins of the child that now laid unconscious and achingly vulnerable in his arms. Aragorn was the heir to Gondor, once great and powerful realm of Men. One day, Aragorn would be king.
That in itself was an immense responsibility. But this added complication, which Arathorn had alluded to on his deathbed, was a whole new thing.
Such a small thing that Aragorn now unwittingly carried could very well change this entire decimated world of Shadow they lived in. The Ring of Power, created by the devious Dark Lord Sauron who now held sway over all of Arda, was in the pocket of an innocent, oblivious child.
The Ring, and its immense power, was a well-known object to Elves, Men and Dwarves alike and had been ever since the war to end all wars had first started to ravage the lands and peoples of Middle Earth. Many from all races had sought it over the decades, to their inevitable ruin. To most, it was worth the risk seeking it carried, as this ring, created by Sauron himself in the fires of the great volcanic mountain Orodruin, the Mountain of Doom in Sauron's fortress land of Mordor far away to the East, was the most powerful weapon on all of Arda and the one thing that could potentially undo Sauron's rule.
Sauron sought his Ring of Power relentlessly during the Last War, scouring and devastating the lands of the Elves first to find it. The Firstborn had resisted, even banding together as not seen since the last time Sauron had threatened the world many centuries before during the War of the Last Alliance of Men and Elves. They gathered together the three Rings forged for the Elven kings; themselves powerful, as they had been forged at the same time as the One in the hope of defeating the Dark Lord, for these Rings were not ruled by Sauron as had been his wish when commissioning them. But it had all been in vain.
Although the Dark Lord had never found his precious One Ring, he had managed, through sheer brute force and no small amount of cunning, to gather together and make use of the three Rings of the Elves.
He'd first taken Narya, the Ring of Fire, from the Grey Pilgrim, Gandalf the Wizard; then taken Nenya from the Elven Queen Galadriel in the forest of Lothlorien; and finally snatched Vilya from Lord Elrond, Master of the Elven sanctuary of Imladris. Individually, these powerful Rings had had little effect on the immense power of Mordor, but, brought together in the Necromancer's fire, they had enough strength to take for the Shadow what few lands had by then remained free on Arda.
No one knew exactly where the Ring of Power, the One Ring, had disappeared to after it had been taken by the King of Men Isildur during the War of the Last Alliance. The Wise knew its immense power and for years after Sauron, reincarnated and regenerated in his once dead land of Mordor rose to power again, they searched the lands for it in a bid to end it all.
How it had come to be in Arathorn's possession, Legolas could not even guess, for even though he was a descendant of Isildur, the great and last true King of Gondor; that king had died without the Ring on him and offering no clue as to where it had disappeared to.
So now, Legolas not only had the future King of Men to look after but he was also responsible for the Ring of Power. Surely the Dark Lord was still searching. Perhaps not frantically as before but even with the all the lands of Middle Earth firmly under his control, he would still desire it.
As Legolas reached his destination, a shard of fear shot through his heart.
What had he gotten himself into?
To Be Continued…