The War of Light and Shadow
By Freddie23
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Disclaimer: I own nothing Tolkien created.
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Chapter 46 – The Curse
Legolas fell hard on his back against the uneven stone floor and was joined just a second later by Carion. The breath was knocked out of him and he struggled for a moment to inhale for the air was dusty and thick with Evil.
They were no match for the Wraiths, Legolas knew this for certain. He had known from the very first moment he saw the towering shapes stalking across the length of the cave. Distraction, just long enough to get the boy out, had been the goal. He had never had anything else in mind. Now that his mission had been successfully achieved the only way out of this dire situation was to run. The coward's way, he imagined Janor telling him. As the Rangers desperately fought in anger with the creatures who had brutally slaughtered their much beloved commander, Legolas searched for an escape route.
Crawling back up to his feet, Legolas quickly assessed the state of their situation, his mind working quickly to change his strategy.
It was not good.
Three Wraiths now remained in the cave, the fourth having been chased off by the flaming arrow Legolas had aimed directly at the hooded space where its wicked face should have been. Having followed Janor into the cave after the man had determined that he would not leave his friends to their fates, Legolas had hurriedly sparked a flame and lit the arrow, working on a hunch that fire might just do the trick.
Indeed, it had been more effectual than the plain arrow that Janor had first unleashed upon them. The Wraith had merely chuckled at the man's feeble attempt to scare it off its prize. It had not found a shaft of flaming wood coming at it with wicked speed quite so amusing though. As its robes became fast engulfed with flames, it had fled past the amazed Rangers, disappearing with an ear-piercing shriek into the night. That left only three. Too many. But better odds than four.
Unfortunately though, the Rangers had waited too long. Kinnale was dead; cleanly decapitated by a heavy broadsword. At his side, Ciaran had cowered in a defensive position on the ground, spattered with his father's slick bright red arterial blood; a gory, gruesome sight to behold. That was what the Rangers now fought for. That, and revenge.
Now, however, Ciaran had been removed from the equation and Legolas was eager to do likewise. The Rangers though seemed intent on getting vengeance for what the Wraiths had done; a folly undertaking that would undoubtedly get them killed should they be left to their own devices.
Already beaten and battered, the Men wouldn't last much longer. It was only their anger that had given them strength enough to survive this long. The Wraiths knew this and they were not concerned. Fighting against Men, they were confident that they could not possibly lose the battle.
Wearily, Legolas approached the towering robed creatures once again. Despite his almost frantic intent to escape this as soon as possible, to not fight would only end up getting him killed. He should not be tired like he now did in battle but he recognised that these were no ordinary foes he fought. These were the physical embodiment of the Shadow and their power reflected that. Fighting them was immensely draining. The Shadow was so very close, sapping the hope and strength from those standing in defence of the Light.
"Veron!" Legolas yelled as the big man attempted the risky move of attacking one of the Wraiths from behind, an action almost certainly doomed to get him killed.
Fortunately for the man, Legolas' shout served to attract the Wraiths' attentions towards himself instead. Unfortunately, having identified the Elf in the battle, the creature darted towards him with disconcerting speed and stunning agility. Legolas hastily moved backwards in an attempt to get out of its way.
"Get out!" he shouted to the battling men, struggling to be heard over the intense noise.
For the most part, the men had already noticed the futility of this fight and they were quite happy to follow the Elf's command now. The Wraiths did not pursue the men as they disengaged and made for the cave's mouth and the relative safety of the outdoors. They had far more interesting prey at hand now. An Elf, one of the Firstborn, was among them. That was the true prize. Well, that and the boy. And this was not only an Elf but the Guardian. That would be a wonderful coup for the Shadow
With no more flaming arrows to hand, Legolas now had only his twin white knives with which to defend himself. They would indeed be poor defence against the Nazgul.
Soon Legolas ran out of space into which to retreat and ended up pressed up tight against the cold dampness of the cave wall, unable to go anywhere. The whole place reeked of panic, blood and Evil, all conspiring to unsettle and disorient.
He tried to calm his nerves, slowing his breathing. Panic would not help. But it was a hard thing to control. Death lay at hand. The cave stank of it. Kinnale lay slumped against the wall in a wide pool of already thickening blood and before him stood the four angels of death, ready to take him away from this life he had committed to. He closed his eyes only briefly to calm his anxiety although the darkness did little to soothe him.
When he looked up again, the three remaining Wraiths were advancing menacingly upon him. He tried to make himself appear as un-intimidated as possible before them, difficult though it was. However, the Wraiths were amused by this, unimpressed by displays of bravado.
A sword, cold and thrumming with dark power, was pointed at Legolas' throat and he instinctively flinched away from it in spite of his determination not to.
"Thranduilion."
The name burned in Legolas' chest and his breath caught in his throat. It was no surprise that the Nazgul knew exactly who he was, knew all about his past. After all, the Dark Lord himself knew about him and his ward. But that ancient title, 'son of Thranduil', spoken through the conduit of Shadow, made anger boil inside of him anew.
"One of you will die by my hand this night," the Elf threatened darkly his voice trembling with anger.
Laughter rang from behind black robes. They found the very notion of a threat directed towards them amusing. "You cannot harm us, Thranduilion," one of them hissed in return and the bitter words echoed tauntingly inside Legolas' head, throbbing painfully. "You are weak. As you have always been."
"We shall see," Legolas replied, raising his knife level with them.
More laughter of intense amusement at that additional threat followed. "Yes, we shall see." They waited then, as if giving the Elf the time and opportunity to make good on his threat. It was taunting, Legolas knew and it made him madder still. And yet he found that he did not possess the will to actually go through with it. His hand trembled uselessly, making him look pathetically weak before the powerful. Again, the Nazgul laughed. "You see, Thranduilion? You have not the strength."
Legolas released the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding until now in one long rush. Certainly, the Wraiths knew how to tap into a person's worst fears and that he was weak and cowardly was perhaps his worst fear of all. It bit at his very heart with every beat since the fall of Mirkwood. The Nazgul's laughter of amusement did nothing to relieve his belief of cowardice and they knew fully well the effect they had on the Elf stood quaking before them.
Advancing closer, closing in around him, the Three snarled this time rather than laughed. They were moving in for the kill. They'd played their games long enough.
One thing Legolas knew for certain was there was no way out of this now. With no real way of defending himself, the Wraiths would end his life now. He was not afraid. They would not make him suffer; they had better things to do than toy with their prey. Death did not scare Legolas either. Surely anything that lay beyond the veil was better than the darkness that now shrouded his life. In fact, it would probably come as a relief. Legolas very nearly smiled at that thought. How Aragorn would hate him for thinking such dark, fatalistic thoughts at a time when his death was looking him right in the face.
The exiled, down-trodden prince of Mirkwood was not, however, going to go down without a good fight. It may have been hopeless but he was not about to just give into their will, no matter how powerful it proved to be.
As the middle Wraith, standing directly before him, stepped forwards, Legolas took both of his own gleaming white knives and without a moment's hesitation plunged them both into the creature's midriff.
It hurt him more than it did the shadowy being, of that Legolas was positive. Pain shot through him, radiating up through his arms and hitting in him the chest as if it were a physical blow, this was followed almost instantly by a blast of cold so intense that it made him gasp out loud. This was the touch of the Shadow – as close as one could get without staring directing into the eyes of the Dark Lord himself. He fell to his knees as the sharp pain ripped through him and a moment later his twin knives, clean of any blood or gore that would have been expected to be present had they been impaled in any mortal body, clattered to the ground in front of him.
"Fool," the assaulted Wraith accused as though it was speaking a curse. It moved its sword to bring down the killing blow.
Legolas looked up, wanting to see the end as it came. Defiance would be the last thing the servants of the Shadow would see upon the face of Legolas Thranduilion.
The end, however, did not come. Rather, the middle Wraith let out a high-pitched shriek and staggered backwards, then the other two followed the motion, retreating away in a flurry of heavy robes. At first, Legolas was uncertain of just what could have had such a sudden and dramatic effect on the creatures who were said to fear so little in the mortal world. His question was answered a moment later when, still shrilly crying, the Wraiths turned and revealed that their heavy black robes burned with lapping orange flames, ignited by the flaming arrows Janor had just unleashed in their direction.
Moments later, the Nazgul ran, writhing and screaming, almost tripping over themselves in their haste, from the cave, leaving the Elf and Man alone.
"Legolas! Are you alright?"
Suddenly, Aragorn was knelt at his side and Legolas forced himself to stand up despite the fact that his legs felt horribly weak, trying to order his thoughts enough so he could actually form a sentence. "What are you doing here?"
"I was…"
Bending gingerly to retrieve his knives and also trying to ignore the nausea that washed over him at the motion, Legolas told him sharply, "I told you to stay with Eomer."
"I wasn't going to just leave you," Aragorn exclaimed incredulously at the suggestion.
"Idiot," Legolas spat, shaking out his arms in an attempt to diffuse the pricking pain that continued to shoot through them.
"Hey! I came to help…"
Legolas took Aragorn's arm in a tight grip, not letting him finish his protest. "We have to go. They'll be back."
"Wait. Kinnale…" Aragorn said, trying to look around the cave for the Commander of the Rangers.
"He's dead."
The bluntness of his guardian's tone startled Aragorn but he knew better than to be disbelieving of Legolas' word. Not that he had the time anyway. Legolas was already dragging him back outside into the rain. Janor led them hurriedly along the pathway that Eomer and the others had already taken, rushing to catch up with the fleeing Rangers and Rohirrim.
"Do you really think they'll be back?" Janor asked Legolas over his shoulder, daring a quick glance back at the Elf as they walked.
"I'm not taking any chances."
"Good idea."
"Legolas?" Aragorn asked as they moved as fast as they could without losing all footing on the slippery mud beneath their boots. "What about Kinnale?"
"What about him?"
"Are we just going to leave him there?"
"He is beyond help now."
"But if…"
"Aragorn," Legolas snapped impatiently, "it doesn't matter anymore. He's dead. There is no going back."
"It matters to me."
Pausing in their flight from the cave, Legolas gripped Aragorn's shoulders and looked directly into his young charge's eyes with complete candour. "I am sorry, Aragorn, truly I am. There is nothing more we can do. Right now, we have to get as far away from this place as possible." He rested his palm against Aragorn's flushed cheek and implored more softly, "Please, we have to go now."
"Yes, all right," Aragorn nodded in agreement, subtly blinking back tears.
"Come on." Taking Aragorn's arm again, as if afraid that by letting him loose the boy would turn back and disobey him, Legolas ushered him away. Legolas knew all too well how much the young man had looked up to the commander of the Rangers and knew how it must have hurt to know that he was gone for good. Indeed, Legolas himself felt a terrible gnawing grief at the passing of the Ranger, compounded by the manner of his death. To be brought down by the Nazgul must have been nothing short of terrifying. Still, tempting fate and lingering in the vicinity of the Black Riders would be foolish and staying to be slaughtered by the Nazgul would not bring Kinnale back from the dead.
"Janor," greeted Eomer once they finally intercepted the larger group of fleeing men. Green eyes took in the bedraggled three and realised that someone was missing. "There was nothing you could do?" he asked, referring to Kinnale's absence.
Both men looked to Legolas for an answer, so the Elf said, "No. Kinnale is dead."
"Damn it," cursed Eomer under his breath.
Sympathetic though he was to the man's shock and sadness, Legolas knew that this was not the time to wallow so he shoved Aragorn forward and told the man of Rohan, "We have to keep moving."
Already they were moving onwards, following the bulk of people away from the site of death and grief wrecked by the Nazgul. Now that they had started to move they were all eager to put as much distance between them and the site of attack as possible.
"How many injured?" Legolas asked Janor as they walked at a slightly more sedate pace than before, lulled somewhat into complacency now there was some distance between them and the cave.
"Minor injuries for the most part. The Rangers are understandably shaken up."
"Will they be all right?" The last thing Legolas wanted right then was people being unable to keep up, especially when they needed to move quickly.
"They'll be fine."
"And Ciaran?"
Sadness flitted across Janor's face at the mention of Kinnale's son but Legolas continued watching him, waiting for the answer to his question. "Honestly, I don't know."
"I meant, was he hurt?"
"No, I don't think so. Not physically anyway."
None of them should have been too surprised perhaps that Legolas was more focused on the physical than the emotional consequence of what had just happened and yet it hurt them that he appeared so utterly unsympathetic to Ciaran's feelings of loss. There were times when some amongst the Rangers truly believed Legolas to be one of them but at other times, it felt like they didn't know each other at all. This was just such a time. Still, Janor bit his tongue. Now was not the time to have this argument.
Fear drove them forwards. The commanders - Eomer and a rather reluctant Janor – pushed them all far harder than was strictly necessary given that the danger was behind them. Many of the people amongst them were not warriors or great travellers and they found the going difficult, not having any experience at such a swift and long flight from danger. Despite this, they kept going. The rain continued to fall, although the storm was gradually becoming less and less violent as they entered into the second day on the run.
Everyone was tired. They'd walked now for two days and three nights with only occasional breaks lasting no more than an hour. Even Legolas, who possessed, thanks to his, admittedly dulled, Elven constitution superior strength, was beginning to tire.
And surprisingly, it was Legolas was finally brought them to a halt.
It was another miserable grey dawn of the third day when he made his way through the shuffling Rohirrim and Rangers to where Eomer, with his arm wrapped protectively around his sister, was leading them all across the land.
"Eomer?"
"Legolas," the man of Rohan sighed; he was in no mood to listen to the Elf right then. "What do you want?"
"You should call for the halt," Legolas answered, not touched by the man's obvious impatience with him.
"Really? With those things chasing us you want to set up camp?" he shot back in a bitterly sarcastic way, anger bubbling just beneath the surface.
"They are no longer chasing us."
"Ah. Great!" the man beamed insincerely at him, white teeth flashing. "And you know this how?"
"Because if they had been pursuing us we would have been dead days ago."
"I've always admired your sunny outlook on everything."
"Thank you. But I am serious here. We're no longer in danger from the Wraiths," Legolas said with absolute confidence. "Your people are exhausted and they have to rest at some point."
"Why is it that whenever we travel together you always end up insisting that we take a break?"
"Because I am far smarter than you?"
Eomer opened his mouth to retort but Eowyn tugged sharply on his arm to prevent it, a chuckle escaping her throat at her brother's indignation. Rolling his eyes towards the grey heavens, Eomer sighed, "It's safe to stop?" he clarified.
"Yes."
"You're certain?"
"We'll be cautious; place fully armed watches around the camp night and day."
The man glanced back over his shoulder at his people. That they were weary was obvious at a mere glance. Eomer knew that they would not be able to keep going without proper rest for much longer. If there was no need to continue running non-stop then it would be cruel to force them to go on.
"All right."
"Call the halt for the day."
"Did you just hear me say 'all right'?"
Legolas nodded his thanks and turned to go back to find Aragorn. He listened to Eomer calling out to everyone to stop for the day and then heard exclamations of relief from everyone around him. As they were not heading towards any particular shelter, at the call to stop, everyone pretty much just dropped to the ground, gratefully taking the weight off their feet.
On his way to find Aragorn, Legolas saw Ciaran standing looking about him as if entirely lost within the camp and the Elf's heart clenched in sympathy for the child. The young man looked so terribly lost. How familiar that look was. He'd seen it too many times already. In himself, in Aragorn and in countless others bereft by this devastated world they'd become forced to reside in. The young man was now being led by Kalub of the Rangers although the tracker seemed considerably distracted by everything going on around him.
A part of Legolas wanted to leave, to go and find Aragorn and not to have to worry about Kinnale's lost-looking son, but his conscience – rather irritatingly – pricked at him to do something. He found himself walking purposefully over to the two men.
Words of comfort did not come naturally to the exiled prince. Even before the horrors of the War he had not been especially good at offering personal comfort to others. Speeches of encouragement and bravery in battle he could manage but condolences were beyond him and always had been.
"What?" Kalub asked curtly and Legolas realised suddenly that he was standing staring at Ciaran in what must have been a most unusual way.
Shaking his head, Legolas said, "I'm sorry. I was just…We're stopping for the day."
"Yes, we know. Eomer just said."
"Right."
"Legolas, what do you want?" Kalub demanded, defensively placing himself in front of Ciaran, who seemed mostly oblivious to the Elf's presence.
"Nothing. I just wanted to make sure that Ciaran is…"
"He's fine," the man interrupted sharply. "He'll be fine."
"Kalub, what is…?"
"I think you should just go back to Aragorn and leave Ciaran alone with us. His family."
"I…"
"Go."
Stepping closer so that he could speak to the tracker without alerting Ciaran to anything that was being said, Legolas asked, "Surely you do not blame me for…"
"You told us to run. You delayed us. Perhaps if we had ignored your flawed advice then Kinnale would still be alive and his son wouldn't be traumatised."
For a moment, Legolas was rendered speechless. He stood, staring dumbfounded at the Ranger as the words of blame sunk in. It was fair enough that the Men blamed him for the assault and losses at Helm's Deep, he had indeed been responsible then and he could live with that, but to be blamed for the death of the Commander of the Rangers hurt the Elf deeply. Kinnale had been his friend too.
Deciding that arguing over the matter, especially in front of Ciaran, would not do any good, Legolas swallowed thickly and nodded.
"All right," he said softly, backing down. Looking to the young man stood uncertainly, unmoving behind Kalub, Legolas advised, "Try to get some rest."
"Thank you for that bit of pointless advice."
No anger boiled in Legolas' heart at the tone with which he was being addressed; he just felt sadness for what had happened with the Nazgul and his role in it. He knew that Kalub was indeed correct. He had hesitated. Knowing fully well that in the face of the Nazgul Kinnale did not stand a chance of surviving, he had nevertheless held the Rangers, who had been so determined to go in and rescue their commander, back. Perhaps if he had not done so, if he had let them go when they'd wanted to, Kinnale may still have been alive.
"Legolas?"
The Elf looked up in surprise that he was now standing next to his ward, who was pulling a clean shirt from his bag.
"You got him to stop?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Eomer – you got him to stop for a while?"
"Oh. Yes. He agreed."
"For how long?" Upon seeing his guardian's blank look, Aragorn asked again, more forcefully, "Legolas for how long are we stopping this time?"
Legolas dropped his own pack to the ground and sighed before offering his answer. "I'm not sure. Probably until tomorrow. That should give people enough time to recover."
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, Aragorn."
"You don't seem fine."
"Well, I am."
"Do you want me to go find Valon for you?"
"Why would you think I need to see a healer?" Legolas demanded defensively, crouching so that he could search through his bag for dry clothing to put on.
"Because you are acting strangely."
"Strangely? There is nothing wrong with me."
"Then why are your hands shaking?" the man asked almost triumphantly, crossing his arms over his chest as he waited for a reply, his face set with a stern impression for his mentor.
Legolas looked down at himself, ready to refute the boy's claim. When he pulled his hands slowly from where he had them delved into his pack searching for dry clothes, he frowned deeply. In their rapid flight from the cave and constant vigilance for Enemy activity threatening them as they fled, he'd hardly had time to take stock of himself. Certainly, he had felt the strains and bruises he had sustained during the brief but brutal battle with the Wraiths of Mordor but apart from that he hadn't really had time to focus on anything else. And yet, Aragorn was indeed correct. As he held his hands flat before him, they noticeably trembled.
He gripped his hands into tight fists then flexed his fingers out experimentally. Pain tingled up his arms at the action, making his shoulders and chest ache ever so slightly.
"Legolas?" Aragorn prompted and concern now shone in his eyes.
The Elf sighed and settled his hands, palms down, on his thighs. "I plunged my knife into the heart of a Nazgul," he said, his voice oddly detached now that he stared down at his quivering hands.
"Did they hurt you?"
"No. It is just…They are filled with dark magic."
Now it was Aragorn's turn to frown. Crouching down so he was level with his guardian, the boy asked anxiously, "Are you saying that they…they cursed you?"
Chuckling at the notion, Legolas shook his head. "No, Aragorn. Do not concern yourself; I will be fine."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes," the Elf smiled reassuringly. "Get some rest while you have the chance, Aragorn."
As the prince climbed to his feet again, Aragorn asked, "Where are you going?"
"To see if I can be of any help to Janor and Eomer."
"Are they setting up watches?"
"Yes."
"I should offer to take one."
"You should get some rest."
"But…"
"Aragorn, please don't argue with me right now."
The boy nodded even though he remained eager to help in some way too. But he would do as asked by his guardian; both because Legolas most definitely did not seem entirely himself and also because he was, after virtually no rest for days, exhausted anyway.
To Be Continued…