The War of Light and Shadow
By Freddie23
OIOIOIOI
Disclaimer: I own nothing Tolkien created.
A/N: Thank you so much if you have left a review. This story is a little tricky for me to write as it's so out of my comfort zone so I appreciate all the encouragement.
Hope you enjoy this chapter…
OIOIOIOIOIOI
Chapter 42 – Helpless Frustrations of Tortured Minds
The next few days passed in a blur for both the fevered Legolas and the terribly worried Aragorn.
Once the healer had been convinced that both the wound and fever had been suitably brought under control, they had gently moved Legolas on a stretcher into the main hall of Meduseld where the still recovering wounded were being temporarily housed. There, at least, he was more comfortable than he would have been had he laid on the cold, hard floor in the deserted east wing of the great palace.
Guilty for their part in isolating Legolas so much from the rest of their Men in revenge for his actions at Helm's Deep, Kinnale and Eomer came by to check on the Elf several times each day. On the other hand, Aragorn did not leave his guardian's side unless he absolutely had to.
There was little anyone could do to prevent Aragorn from silently torturing himself over his role in his guardian's condition. Ultimately, it had been he who had driven Legolas away. The prince would have fought any decision put to him by the two commanders of Men but he would never go against his ward's wishes unless he felt he had no other choice, which clearly had not been the case. So it was Aragorn's fault – in his mind, at least – and nothing could change that.
Unfortunately, the only person who could convince Aragorn otherwise was currently incapable of even speaking. And so the man suffered alone, not heeding the reassurances from his other friends for they felt empty and insincere.
Healers came and went frequently, buzzing about one minute then the next nowhere to be seen. They came with regularity, such as which Aragorn could tell the exact time of day just by watching their wanderings. They repeated the same process every time they came by. Checked on the patients briefly, completed any small chores, ensured waiting friends and relatives that reports to the physicians would be made, and then just as swiftly moved onto the next patient.
With Kinnale and Eomer lingering around the hall so much, the young healer who had first come to aid Legolas in the east wing of the palace was replaced by the most senior and experienced of Rohan's healers. He cared personally for Legolas, giving him attentions not normally afforded to anyone but the commander of the realm of Rohan. There was little even he, with all his decades of experience, could do to help the Elven prince though. Once again, it was simply a game of patience.
Legolas' fever continued to peak and ebb over the next four days. Only very rarely did he wake and even then he seemed unaware of what was going on about him or who was watching over him. Glassy eyes did not even register Aragorn at his side, not once.
It was almost a week of suffering these ups and downs before Legolas finally came out of his fever-induced sleep for any significant length of time. Mercifully, Aragorn was sat at his side when at last he did stir.
The boy almost leapt up in excitement when Legolas mumbled something softly under his breath, shifting his head slightly against the coolness of the pillow.
"Legolas? Are you awake?" Aragorn called softly close to his guardian's ear once he had quashed his excitement to a more acceptable level.
"Ada," the Elf murmured to himself and immediately Aragorn felt his heart plummet in his chest in disappointment. That same foreign word he could not understand again. Too often he had heard this frustrating word slip from his guardian's lips and he was still no closer to understanding its meaning.
Taking Legolas' frail hand in his own, the young man squeezed it gently and leant closer so that he could whisper, "It is me. Aragorn."
Legolas' brow furrowed at this, although his reaction was at least of some comfort to Aragorn, for it indicated that at the very least Legolas was responding to him, albeit in confusion. It came of even more of a relief when the Elf mumbled, "Aragorn," under his breath with the slightest ghost of a smile on his pale, parched lips. After a struggle, Legolas' eyes slowly opened a crack and then widened when they weren't blinded by sunlight. He blinked several times rapidly to clear his vision then shifted his unfocused gaze to the worried face of his ward. "What…?" Legolas went to ask but found that his throat was too dry to force out and articulate any further words.
"Oh, I'll get you some water," Aragorn offered quickly, retrieving a cup of fresh water from where it rested nearby. "Here you go." He gently lifted Legolas' head off the pillow and rested the cup to his lips.
After closing his eyes to ward off the dizziness that immediately assaulted him at being moved, Legolas gratefully sipped at the cool water, for a moment simply relishing the feel of the refreshing liquid moving down his parched throat. Once he had finished off the water, he laid back on the pillow with Aragorn's guidance and remained perfectly still whilst he again tried to adjust to this new position.
"Thank you," he smiled once he could see his young ward clearly again.
Grinning widely at the praise, Aragorn answered softly, "You are welcome."
Trying his original question again, Legolas asked, "What happened?"
"You don't remember?" The Elf shook his head carefully, mindful of the throbbing ache that had settled in his head and radiated down his neck. "You were unwell. I found you passed out in your rooms."
Confused eyes, ever so slightly more focused than before, shifted about the unfamiliar place in which he was now laid. "Where am I?" How disconcerting it was not to know, for one who always liked to be in control.
"A hall in Meduseld. The healers and physicians have set up a base here for the wounded."
"Healers?" Why was it so difficult for his mind to process what his ward was plainly telling him? He just couldn't seem to grasp what was happening. It didn't help that the pounding was making it hard to concentrate and the exhaustion was already pulling him down again.
"Yes. You have been here for almost a week now. You had a fever but it broke a couple of days ago and we have been waiting for you to wake."
Legolas frowned again, wincing when the small action made his head ache even more. "Fever?"
"We were very worried about you for a time."
Shaking his head carefully, the Elf confessed with a weary sigh, "I don't remember any of this."
From the way his guardian was now struggling to keep his eyes open, Aragorn could see that even this short conversation was tiring the Elf out. Smiling, Aragorn assured him, "It's alright. I'm sure it'll come back to you eventually." After a short nod from Legolas, the prince's eyes fell closed once more. "Sleep for a while. I'll still be here when you wake."
Legolas might have drifted away from him again and returned to the state of slumber he had been in for days now, but Aragorn's heart was considerably lighter than it had been in a long time. He sat back with a long, deep sigh of relief. All the tension flowed from him in an instant. Legolas was no longer in danger. For now, at least, things were looking up.
OIOI
"How is he today?"
That voice – so familiar. And yet he still found it difficult to place. Through the haze of confusion that still fogged his mind, the voices sounded distant and yet they felt close at the same time.
"He looks a little better, I think."
A soft laugh came then, musical and light and so very out of place amongst the pain and exhaustion. "Well, you should know," the voice said teasingly. "You do nothing but stare at him all day long."
Silence fell after that, so thick that Legolas thought that perhaps he had fallen back into that deep sleep from which he had just moments before been pulled. But then the voice, unmistakably Aragorn, continued, "He would do – has done – the same for me. I am not going to abandon him when he needs me the most."
"I think he'd appreciate that."
"I hope so," Aragorn sighed deeply. "I owe him much."
"Owe him?" The light female voice asked the same question that had immediately popped into Legolas' mind at the man's unlikely words. Why on earth should Aragorn owe him anything?
Unfortunately for both listeners, Aragorn did not answer the question put to him. Easily, Legolas could picture him gazing thoughtfully into the distance, withdrawing into himself as he was prone to doing when in such a mood.
"Don't worry, Aragorn. No matter what you did – or think you did – Legolas will forgive you for it, I'm sure."
Eowyn, Legolas suddenly realised with a jolt, was the woman with whom Aragorn was speaking in quiet tones.
"Legolas?" the woman asked softly and Legolas wondered at her only now calling his name in question. Had he spoken something out loud without meaning to? He couldn't remember. "Can you hear me?"
Upon a soft hand being laid upon his forehead, Legolas smiled weakly despite himself. "Eowyn?"
"You see. I told you he would wake at your fair presence," Aragorn chuckled as Legolas fought to get his eyes open so he could look up at his two sentinels.
When he finally did manage it, he saw Eowyn smiling warmly down at him, smoothing his hair back rhythmically in such a way that reminded him of his childhood. "How are you feeling?"
"Confused."
"That is understandable."
"I'll get the healer," Aragorn announced with a broad smile, getting to his feet with apparent weariness. "He wanted to be informed as soon as you woke again."
Legolas followed him with his eyes as he protested, "I do not need a healer."
Pausing, Aragorn glanced down at the dazed Elf. "You are in no position to decide that," he warned somewhat darkly. "Lie still and wait for me to fetch a healer."
In submission, Legolas nodded obediently, fighting to keep a smile off his face at the boy's firm command. "As you wish," he wearily agreed, trying his upmost to remain focused on what was happening around him and not slipping into the sleep his body craved.
Rushing away to summon a healer, which he would have done whether Legolas had approved or not, Aragorn left Eowyn to look after the Elf in his rare absence. For a moment, Legolas allowed his eyes to fall closed but then he remembered that Eowyn was still at his side and for the first time since waking, surprise registered in his mind at this. Worried that perhaps he had imagined the woman's presence, Legolas looked up to find her indeed still there and perched on a chair at his bedside.
The young woman looked different to when he had last seen her at Helm's Deep. A little colour flushed her cheeks now, her hair had started to grow back, choppy and wispy but growing quickly and an easy smile crossed her lips as she gazed down at him, lighting her green eyes, so very similar to those of her brother, but warmer even than Eomer's. Her hand had once again come to rest upon his forehead and he found its presence there oddly comforting, and he let his eyes once again fall closed, uncharacteristically unguarded.
Eowyn smiled a warm smile as the prince visibly relaxed under her touch. She recalled him sitting at her bedside once as she recovered and it had brought her a small amount of peace and it was her pleasure now to return the favour. Besides, she liked the presence of her saviour; he made her feel safe even in his recuperation.
"Ah, it seems he has drifted off again," the physician smiled as he approached with Aragorn.
"No, he hasn't," the prince mumbled quietly, although in truth he had come very close to falling asleep again, basking in the warmth and security that surrounded him. The pain was still present in the background but laid still, it was bearable for the moment.
Stepping closer, the physician, whom Legolas did not recognise when he managed to force his eyes open again, smiled down at him, pressing two fingers to the Elf's wrist to check his pulse without asking permission.
"How do you feel today, Your Highness?" the healer asked with almost annoying cheer that he must have practiced much on patients to have so perfected it.
"Please call me Legolas." A plea rather than a request. How he despised that useless title now.
"Very well, Legolas. How do you feel?"
"Alright."
Not accepting such a vague answer, the physician finally let go of Legolas' wrist and admonished, "I cannot help you unless you are entirely truthful with me." The healer's shrewd green eyes swept over to where Aragorn and the young Eowyn hovered still nearby and immediately recognised the intense pride emanating from the Elf. "Would you feel more comfortable if we discussed this in private?"
"It's alright," replied Legolas wearily. He really couldn't care either way.
"We should leave you to speak with Valon alone," Eowyn told him, removing her hand finally from the Elf's creased brow. Having been under the physician's care for a long while now, she knew that it often was to discuss such matters in privacy.
Looking blearily towards his ward, Legolas asked quietly of him, "Who is Valon?"
"Your physician."
"Oh." He wished he could think clearly. It would make things a whole lot easier.
"Alright, give us a moment to speak alone," the healer – Valon, Legolas now understood – told the man and woman bluntly, a command now instead of a suggestion as it had been before. "And, Eowyn, you should not be out of bed."
"My apologies, Valon. I shall obey," she smiled, touching Legolas' shoulder in farewell.
"I'll help you back to your bed," Aragorn offered, linking his arm with that of the woman's for support.
Alone now, Valon pulled the thick blanket covering his patient down a little, intending to check on his injury. "So how are you feeling – in all honesty?"
"Um…" It was hard to put his thoughts in order and even harder to vocalise them, especially to someone he didn't know. So, he said the first thing that came to mind. "Weary."
Aragorn might have been stunned and concerned by the simple confession of weakness but the healer shook his head, unsatisfied, and pressed, "I was looking for something a little deeper than just tired."
Blinking lethargically, Legolas tried to come up with something a little less vague but the truth was that he was concentrating too hard on keeping himself awake to put too much thought into anything else, including assessing his body for hurts.
Helping him out after a long silence, the healer prompted, "Is the pain tolerable?"
"Yes – so long as I lay still."
"That is good." Unbuttoning the shirt Legolas wore, Valon checked the bandage for blood but fortunately found it acceptably clean. That was most certainly a relief. With infection having set in, the wound on Legolas' side had not healed as well as hoped. It had been bleeding profusely and had been an immense worry to the healers working on the prince. Already weakened from infection, Legolas had deteriorated. "Are you experiencing any nausea?"
Legolas nodded carefully, although it wounded his pride somewhat to admit it. "Some."
"Dizziness?"
"Yes."
"Well, that is to be expected for now. I'm afraid all I can offer you is the advice to rest."
"Sounds like a plan," Legolas muttered wearily, grumpily even.
"Alright then," Valon chuckled in understanding, not offended by the clipped tone. He had heard worse insults from the pained during his time. "Get some rest. I will return in an hour or so to change your dressings."
"Thank you."
By now, Legolas was more than ready to return to sleep, the short conversation having already drained him of what small amount of energy he had had, when Aragorn returned quietly to his side. Unfortunately, by then he was having trouble keeping his eyes open though. Blinking blearily up at his ward, he attempted a smile, although he didn't know whether it came out as such, or as he suspected, a grimace.
"Valon is pleased with your progress," Aragorn grinned brightly, relieved beyond words by the quick reassurance he'd just received from the physician in passing.
"Yes."
Seeming to understand, and for once take heed of, the Elf's weariness, Aragorn told him, "Rest. We can talk later."
The exhausted Elf needed no further encouragement and slipped almost immediately back into his dreams. It was such a blessed relief to be away from the loud noises, bright light and pain and exhaustion of the waking world.
He dreamed of trees, of vast, sweeping forests of the most vivid green almost unimaginable in the world changed. He dreamed of teeming life, undimmed and joyfully going about their daily chores under the high canopy of lofty green. He smelled the freshness of the clean air and felt the glorious warmth of sunshine upon his face. He dreamed periodically of his home, Mirkwood's great stone palace, magnificent even designed as it was to be an impenetrable fortress against the spreading darkness of Dol Guldur. He walked, or rather drifted, through familiar halls, smiled in greeting to familiar people as they met him with kind words, and rejoiced in the musical singing the Elves so loved to partake in. He basked in the pure love directed at him, undaunted for the first time by the memories of his past.
The reprieve from the waking world into this blissful dreamscape was not to last long though. Pain niggled at his dulled senses. In the real world, he was uncomfortable and the dream world in which he briefly walked would not abide the disturbance.
Moving would do him no good; that had only made things worse before. Waking would surely not help either but it seemed he had little choice in that matter. Sleep would not easily return to him once he had left its confines. Opening his eyes seemed a challenge too great to even attempt, so he simply laid quietly, trying to avoid the instinctive temptation to hold his breath in order to lessen the pain that shot up his side and across his chest.
It was quiet all about him, he realised, unlike the last time he had been awake. Unfortunately, it was right then that he actually needed people about. Perhaps that healer – Valon, was it? – could give him something to ease the pain, or at least send him back to sleep. Deciding that it was worth the effort of opening his heavy eyes to check and see if the healer was about, Legolas looked up at the blurry stone ceiling, patterned with long, branching cracks, to gain his bearings before allowing his gaze to drift about the hall. No light shone from the tall windows so Legolas assumed that night had fallen whilst he'd slept. How much time had passed, he remained unsure of. It felt at the same time both mere minutes and long hours, impossible though such a twist of time was.
Surprisingly – or rather annoyingly – this seemed to be one of the rare times that Aragorn had left his side. Just when he actually needed the boy as well.
Now fully alert, the pain had increased, climbing up to become almost intolerable. How was it possible that no healers wandered amongst the few remaining patients even at night when they were supposed to be asleep?
A soft groan escaped his constricted throat, much to his own bemusement. Once, he would have been able to control himself better than this. For years he had lived with a similar burning deep within his chest without ever allowing it to show through to the boy he had raised. That he had slipped so easily now was greatly vexing to him.
"Legolas?" a soft voice whispered through the hush, making him startle then look about again for its source.
In a moment, Eowyn was leaning over him, peering intently at his face.
"You are awake?" she asked, a frown pinching her brow. Seeing how tense the Elf was laid on the bed, the astute young woman deduced, "You're in pain." He nodded his confirmation, glad that he had not had to speak the words whilst at the same time willing the world to stop its relentless and sickening spinning. Touching his arm soothingly, Eowyn told him, "I'll go fetch a healer for you."
"Thank you," Legolas managed to squeeze out, although he could barely hear the sound so doubted Eowyn would have caught the words.
It felt like long hours had passed before Valon returned carrying a lantern to light his way amongst the beds and patients and followed by Eowyn who was hurrying him along.
"Eowyn tells me that your wound is causing you some significant discomfort," Valon stated without preamble, laying down the lamp so he could see the Elf properly. Legolas merely nodded in response, wincing at the harsh light hurting his eyes. "Is it your side?"
"Yes."
Turning down the blanket covering the prince, Valon went to check on the bandage. "I changed your dressing earlier whilst you slept. Undoubtedly that aggravated your injury somewhat."
This observation was not much help to Legolas. He wanted the fire lapping at his side to cool, not false platitudes.
"Let me just take a quick look."
Gently, Valon peeled away the dressing, causing Legolas to hiss in pain. The wound was red and angry-looking again and hot to the touch. Blood had once more collected on the white cloth being used as a bandage. All of which were sure signs of infection. In addition, a gloss of perspiration covered the Elf's fair skin and he shivered ever so slightly without the warmth of the blanket.
"Fetch me a bowl of cold water and some cloths," Valon ordered the junior healer who'd also followed him in, the one Legolas assumed was supposed to be on duty watching over the patients this night. "He is developing a fever once more. Damn, I did not need this to happen," he then swore, leaning in close to examine the wound again.
"Should I fetch Aragorn?" Eowyn asked in a whisper.
"No, he'll just be in the way right now. I need space."
"He would wish to know."
"I'll send for him later," Valon assured her distractedly as the junior healer returned with the water. "And you, my Lady, should still not be out of bed."
"I want to stay."
"Eowyn, there is nothing you can do right now. Legolas might be more comfortable enduring this procedure without an audience."
Sighing, the young woman nodded. "Alright. But you'll let me know if you need my help with anything, right?"
"Of course we will. Now, back to bed."
Begrudgingly, Eowyn returned to her own mattress and climbed under the thin blanket. She was determined to stay awake though, watching the healers surrounded by the bubble of orange lamplight washing Legolas down with cold water. Every so often Legolas would utter a cry or a whimper or a soft groan and Eowyn felt great sympathy for the Elf. Over the past few weeks under the healers' attentive care, she had come to appreciate how utterly miserable it felt to be constantly run-down by illness and even more miserable to be constantly prodded at by overly enthusiastic physicians and their junior colleagues. Being gentle was hardly a requisite for a healer and physician. They only needed to know how to patch someone up well enough to get them back on their feet and able to fight.
"Please don't," Legolas pleaded as cold water chilled his already freezing body. When he'd wanted help just minutes ago he had rather hoped for something more along the lines of pain relief. All these healers brought with them was further discomfort. He wanted them to leave him alone, or if not then he wanted to slip back into the blissful reverie of sleep.
"I am sorry, Legolas, but we need to bring your fever down some," Valon told him quietly as he laid his hand softly upon the disoriented Elf's shoulder to stay him. "Just lie still. We'll be done in a moment."
This assurance did little to ease Legolas' discomfort. However, all he could really do was sit still as Valon advised and wait for the misery to pass. Closing his eyes, he tried, as cold compresses were applied by the healers all over his body, to drift into reverie where he could walk undisturbed in the world of Elven dreams. For most of the time as he had travelled the Old Forest Road and then beyond he had survived by merely slipping into the Elven form of twilight rest in place of true sleep. It had served him well in a world where remaining alert was more often than not essential. Unfortunately, it failed him now. Every shudder renewed his misery and snatched the ideal of sleep away from him before he was ever allowed to indulge.
"There you go. We're all done now," Valon's voice sliced through the quiet. A blanket was pulled back over him and Legolas fought the urge to wrap it tightly around himself, supposing that he might get chastised for trying to warm himself after the healers had worked hard to cool him down. "Try to rest now, Legolas. I'm afraid we may have to repeat this again a little while later to keep that fever in check." The news did not make Legolas feel any better and he could easily imagine himself lying awake for the rest of the night waiting for the inevitable discomfort to return.
Suddenly, Legolas remembered the reason he had been woken in the first place and he opened his eyes just as Valon was going to leave his side.
"Do you…?" Legolas started, having to swallow dryly at the thickness in his throat. "Do you have anything to help with the pain?" he then asked in an almost embarrassed whisper.
The healer sighed regretfully at this askance. Sympathy for the poor souls injured during the battle at the Deep rested always heavily on the man's heart. Warriors were a fiercely proud set by nature. Most of the Men of Rohan currently laid in this hall with injuries of varying degrees would by far prefer to suffer in silence than ask for help and Valon suspected that Legolas was very much the same as the others. It must have put quite a dent in his pride to now ask for help.
So it hurt Valon's heart when, proud and stubborn as they were, finally the Men broke and were forced to beg for relief.
With another soft sigh, Valon told the Elf, "I am sorry, Your Highness. I'm afraid I don't have any herbs that will lessen your pain. I'm sorry," he added regretfully.
Blinking slowly, Legolas smiled a thin smile. "It's alright. It was a longshot anyway."
"I really wish there was something I could do."
Legolas shook his head softly against the pillow, now damp from the healer's attentions to his fevered body. "Forgive me for asking. I know you would help if I could," the prince said in a whisper.
"Do not ask forgiveness for requiring help. Many lying here would not be so brave as to ask."
"Thank you," Legolas said with a dismissive laugh.
Valon laughed out loud. "No other could thank me for not helping! But you are welcome all the same. Now rest if you can. And send for me again if you have need to."
Despite his earlier assertion that sleep would elude him for the remainder of the night, almost as soon as Valon left he fell into a deep slumber away from the pain.
OIOI
"Eomer, we need to slow down."
"Again?" the commander of the Rohirrim ground out. "Aragorn, we're already moving at a snail's pace we cannot possibly go any slower."
"I know," the young man whispered, "but he is struggling."
Eomer glanced over his shoulder to where Legolas was steadily following behind them. With a shrug, he pointed out, "He looks fine to me."
"Well, he's not fine."
Pausing, Eomer turned to face the younger man and said with forced politeness and patience, "Aragorn, please, I am sympathetic to your concern but we cannot come to a grinding halt every time your guardian becomes a little out of breath."
"But…"
"Aragorn!"
Eomer patted the young man on the shoulder and grinned in amusement. "You're going to get into trouble again."
Rolling his eyes at the Rohan man as he walked away, Aragorn muttered an insult under his breath. He then turned to look at the one calling him, waiting for the Elf to catch him up.
"I'd prefer it if you didn't speak about me behind my back," Legolas told his ward breathlessly once he'd caught up.
Falling into step next to Legolas, Aragorn defended, "I was not!"
"Ah, so you were merely discussing the weather with Eomer, were you?"
"Yes, actually. He reckons on rain coming and I'm betting on it staying dry. What's your guess?"
Legolas smiled gently at the boy's sass. Surely he had learned such bravado from the Rangers because he had certainly never indulged in it with his ward. "Aragorn, you don't need to worry about me every minute of every day."
"Well, if you'd just consent to riding on one of the horses then I wouldn't have to."
They had had this argument before and Legolas was tired of hearing it by now. However, for Aragorn's benefit he'd repeat his reasoning once more. "There are people with far greater hurts than mine who need the use of those horses far more than I."
"You know, you are hurt too," Aragorn stressed, not for the first time.
Legolas nodded, his eyes on the ground, worried that on the uneven ground of the path from Edoras he might trip. "Yes," he answered dryly, "I have indeed noticed."
"I just mean that you have as much right as anyone else to…"
"Aragorn, the answer is 'no'." That note of finality in Legolas' voice told Aragorn that he wouldn't get anywhere further with his stubborn mentor and he shrugged in submission.
They had left the Golden Hall of Meduseld just three hours ago, this time taking the whole population of the Rohan people with them – man, woman, child and horse – to head towards Gondor. After the attack on Helm's Deep, the forces of Shadow were almost certain to descend on the town of Edoras and attack it without mercy. They had decided that it would be best not leave anyone behind to suffer that kind of wrath, so Eomer, with the fervent agreement of Kinnale, had ordered that they would take everyone along on the journey to Gondor.
Even after those few short hours, to Aragorn at least, Legolas seemed to be struggling somewhat. Still, the man knew that sheer stubbornness would keep Legolas on his feet for as long as was required of him.
OIOI
The whole of Barad-dur was tense. Every single Orc and Uruk was on edge. Every living thing was tense to the point of breaking. Each of them could feel their master's barely restrained wrath, no matter how far from the Tower they were.
This was a delicate time for the Dark Lord Sauron. His spirit was stretched, wearied as he burned through yet another battered Elven host. All that raging power so contained, crammed into the cramped confines of an earthly body, pained him, as much as the Lord of Darkness could be pained.
For a while now, the master of Barad-dur and all lands beyond had been locked away. None of the lord's lowly serfs knew quite how the process of changing one's energy from one body to another worked and nor did they care to. Few in the world knew. The Shadow Master's own dark magic, combined with magic of the Witchking of Angmar and the spell-casting of his turned Wizard, made the process possible.
Once a body would have sustained for years, but just lately he was going through them at an inexplicably accelerated rate. Perhaps it was all that raging power, growing hotter and stronger every day, or maybe the bodies – or 'hosts' as they were referred to – were just weaker than they had been in the past. That was surely to be expected of the lesser races.
Sauron had always relied on the resilient nature of the Elves. But the only Elves he knew of now in existence were in the Dark Lord's captivity and they had become over the years well and truly cowed, in both body and spirit. They no longer had the spark of strength that they had possessed when walking free. Tormented over decades in the pits of Mordor, it was little wonder that they had weakened so greatly and become poor vessels for his supreme power.
Recycling the same body was hardly ideal either. So much dark strength confined within a body – immortal or no – fairly ravaged the host. Some managed to survive the onslaught of dark power residing inside them but they were never the same afterwards; their spirits became battered and beyond repair. Unfortunately, Sauron's presence within their burnt-out bodies often left them all but useless.
As far as Sauron knew, the supply of Elves on Middle Earth was running desperately thin. Human bodies – and even the stronger bodies of the Dwarves – were no good to him. They could not sustain. He needed to be free once more; he needed his own body back rather than relying the weaker life-forms on Arda to sustain him.
But Sauron was far from strong enough yet, despite the immense strength garnered from the nineteen Rings of Power he had scavenged and stolen over the years, to pull off such a feat as restoring his old form.
Trapped within the Black Lands of Mordor, the Dark Lord remained prisoner, draining the life and spirit out of those few innocents still left captive in Mordor. It was frustrating almost beyond endurance, to have so much control over the lands and yet be able to enjoy the spoils of his great war on the world. Sometimes he thought that his success was just as much a curse. None could understand that but him. None of his other servants was so bound to Mordor. It was claustrophobic to be so confined.
And the process by which he was sustained was by no means perfect either. Like everything that had come with victory, it required much sacrifice on his part. Transferring his dark energy from one crumbling host to a fresh one drained him greatly. For long hours afterwards he required ample rest, deep rest where he did nothing at all to regain some of his former strength. At this point, he was undoubtedly at his most vulnerable. None of his enemies knew of this weakness. That much had been ensured. All allies outside of Mordor believed that he chose to stay in his Dark Lands. To have it otherwise could have been disastrous. An attack could be launched when he was at his weakest and he would be defenceless beyond the protection of his cohorts. Even so, when he was forced into this most hated of necessities, he locked himself away in the safest, strongest point in his Dark Tower, surrounded himself with only his most trusted servants and endured the process that disgusted him so with the hope that it might be the final tame it had to be suffered.
It took mere hours but during that time the energy of dark magic thrummed throughout all of Barad-dur leeching into the desiccated land and all the dark creatures inhabiting it. The screams of agony which Sauron drew from those he took by force echoed around the black halls of stone and it hurt the ears of those who were forced to listen to it despite their inherent love of pain and suffering.
Hobbling weakly back to the comfort of his throne room where he could oversee all, aided by his Voice and one of his most loyal wraith servants, Sauron silently fumed that this latest solution would not last.
As he was eased onto his black throne, the Dark Lord wondered about what could at last end this torture. With the One Ring, his most precious, seeming so very far out of his grasp, Sauron turned his mind instead towards the two travellers still escaping his legions. The boy may have been his primary concern but now, securely embedded within his new body, he found himself for the first time equally fixated on the Elf that accompanied him. Over the years since learning of this new threat to his reign, he had given surprisingly little thought to the Elf. He was but a guardian if reports were to be believed. Influential to be sure, but not a direct threat to him. Besides, he despised wasting the energy thinking upon the Elven culture, it so disgusted him.
But now he found himself wondering at that particular Elf's strength. To have survived all this time and still be fighting so fiercely, so tirelessly. Yes, that exiled Prince of Mirkwood could prove both a blessing and a curse. A curse because he guided the young king and Aragorn seemed to be influenced by him above any other and the Elf was wiser than any Man that walked the lands; but a blessing also because, once Sauron had him in his possession, as was inevitable, the Elf would no doubt prove a wonderful host. Being as strong as he so far demonstrated himself to be, Sauron did not doubt that the self-exiled Prince Legolas would last longer than the other souls he had taken. That provided some small glimmer of hope in his desolate, confined world.
Reclining his brand new and as of yet still stiff Elven body back into his chair of black stone, Sauron cracked an awkward smile at this thought.
From here on in, perhaps things were looking up for him after all.
To Be Continued…