The tunnel seemed endless: as they walked down the dark, rickety passageway, Aragorn could not help feeling that each step brought them closer to their deaths, though none seemed as concerned as he did with the dilapidated surroundings. Their greed blinds them to danger. Money is their only concern, or hate.
He concentrated on memorizing the many twists and turns they took in case he had to make his way out without the benefit of torchlight, but also to distract himself from the searing pain in his belly. The pointed branch had broken the skin, stabbing deep into the flesh of his stomach, but not, he believed, so deep that it would be fatal, and the flame had cauterized the wound enough so that it did not bleed freely. Such fortune, however, did not keep the injury from voicing its loud protest to his every movement, and Strider was in constant agony as they searched.
Although they had explored several more decrepit pairs of rooms like the ones in which the Prince had been sequestered, nothing had been found, and their leader was growing restless with worry. Doran had been sent back earlier to check on Legolas, as Ament seemed no longer to trust Jalian alone with the Elf, but Doran had yet to return. The need for fire to light their way became one of intense interest to the Ranger, as he began to fear the darkness afore him irrationally: his eyes played tricks on him and the dense shadows dispelled by the torchlight were replaced with a new terror, his vision of the ever increasing instability of the passageway's ceiling. It did not help that he was the one testing the doors and rooms they entered before Ament and Jalian would cautiously join him to peer anxiously around themselves. Keep your wits, Estel, the Ranger advised himself, though nothing, it seemed, would stifle the dread that built within him.
"Try this room next," Ament ordered before moving back a safe distance away with Jalian, the leash stretched taut between Aragorn and him.
The Ranger complied by turning the wooden handle gradually, and then pushing the crude door inwards. A none too gentle shove from Ament sent the Ranger staggering into the room, his leashed hands incapable of aiding him in maintaining his balance. He did not fall, though, but was kept upright by Jalian's steadying hand, whose unforeseen mercy the Ranger appreciated. Since the healer had tackled the leader for his unwarranted assault on the Prince, Ament had been most ruthless to Aragorn, and had taken every opportunity to remind the Ranger that he was dispensable. Not that Estel cared, for his fury at watching the mercenary kick the tied, unarmed, and unconscious Elf had known no bounds that could have kept him from retaliating against Ament.
Much like the rooms before, this area seemed devoid of any life, wealth, or the goblet. In the distant corner sat a table, its roughhewn plank surface covered in the remnants of an uneaten meal, the tankards and plates held no recognizable leftovers of food and had obviously been left unused for many years. Chairs were cast haphazardly around the room, and it seemed to Aragorn that this room was in congruence to the others. Whatever beings lived here, they have been absent for a long time, and all seemed to have left in a hurry.
His frustration overtook his caution, and Ament kicked the table petulantly, causing the wooden legs to give way beneath the slab and to come crashing to the dirt floor in a rumbling cascade of dishes and cutlery that resounded in the room. The fool will bring the entire grotto down upon us.
"I grow tired of this," the leader stated sullenly, his torch swinging wildly about him as he peered into the barely illumined darkness. "How many more rooms would you say we've yet to search, Jalian?" Unseen by Ament, the disfigured mercenary shrugged his shoulders, and after a few seconds of silence, the leader screamed, striding malevolently towards Jalian with the unenthusiastic Ranger forced by his leash to follow, "Answer me!"
Instantly, Jalian responded aloud while holding his hands up in apology, "Sorry, boss. I don't know how many. The tunnel is collapsed further down the way. There could have been one, maybe two more."
With a sneer of eccentric amusement, Ament snapped, "Not that it would matter. All these rooms look the same. We may as well be searching the same one over and over."
The mercenary rubbed the black clumps of hair on his scarred head as he considered his leader's words. "Except this one don't have a cell, right?" The vacant look Ament gave him caused Jalian to shrug his shoulders again as he offered weakly, "I don't know. This one's different, anyways."
Thoughtfully, Ament considered Jalian, his feral eyes gleaming. "You're right. This one is different." Torch in hand, the leader paced the perimeter of the room to hold the light next to the barely contained soil walls.
With Jalian's assessment in mind, the Ranger had to agree, This is the first room not to have a cell attached.
When Ament and his torchlight reached the far corner where the fallen table lay, the three men were all stunned to note that the wall was not the compressed, open earth held back with timbers of which the other walls were made. The entire corner consisted of dark stone block that was mortared clumsily into a simulacrum of a trap door; one side held a large slab of slate that served as a sliding door. It was encased in thick timbers set deep in the floor, and though the Ranger did not know by what mechanism the door worked, the other side of the stone walled corner held a simple enough looking lever.
I will be interested to see how Ament deciphers this puzzle, Estel thought, but then he realized, I would be the one to try to work the mechanism. He snorted in dark amusement, the action causing his burn to throb sharply, and earning him a baffled, sympathetic look from Jalian.
As if on cue, Ament ordered, "Strider, open the door. Pull the lever."
The healer obliged reluctantly: he stepped on the table's top, kicking dishes as he shuffled to the lever. The leader dropped the leash, and he and his minion stepped out into the shadowy corridor to watch the Ranger's effort. Aragorn could barely see, as Ament had taken the torch with him, but the healer could tell the lever was threaded through a small hole in the wall, and within the hole sat a gear.
It is naught but simple machinery. The thought did not motivate him. There may still be something that will bring hazard. However, he had no choice in the matter, not if he wanted to be alive to keep his promise to Legolas. The odds of Ament killing him for refusing to open the door were certain while the odds of him dying from the consequences of pulling the lever were debatable, and so he tested the handle's give. It moved slightly downwards at his restrained prodding.
"I am tired of waiting, Strider. Do it."
Aragorn sighed and heeded the leader's order by pulling the lever, increasing his force at the resistance as the room filled with a mighty screech. The door was opening. The lever would move no more, and the door had slid to the right only halfway. Believing the slab would stay open, the Ranger released his hold. With a resounding shriek of stone against stone, the door slammed back shut. Soil dusted down from the shoddy ceiling and Jalian cursed colorfully in fear.
Ament crept to the Ranger, the torchlight held limply out to his side, forgotten in the leader's current awed state. "How did it do that?"
Ament's question went unanswered until Jalian poked his head in through the door, rubbing the dust from his scarred scalp. "Weighted pulleys, I'd wager, boss. Used to have 'em at the slave traders' quarters, where they broke the slaves, so they wouldn't get out."
Ament spared the mercenary an interested glance before he scowled. "We'll need to keep the door open," the leader thought aloud, rubbing the unkempt stubble on his chin. He looked back and forth from the cowering Jalian to the healer, who trembled from the spasms of pain his gouged, burned belly wracked throughout his body from the exertion of pulling the lever.
He did not miss Ament's uncertainty though, and he knew what the man was thinking. Doran has not yet returned. He will need someone to work the apparatus while I explore the opening.
"Jalian, I need you to pull the lever. Keep the door open." The mercenary appeared as though he would argue but a warning growl from Ament kept him quiet. Picking up the leash from the floor, the leader yanked Aragorn to the slab and gave Jalian his command, "Now."
Please, Eru, should I die in here, see Legolas out of this chaos, the Ranger prayed as the door slid open again. He could hear Jalian groaning and huffing.
When the slab was halfway open, the scarred mercenary moaned, "I don't think I can move it no farther, boss."
"Just keep it open," Ament ordered, forcing Strider forward towards the gap. "Hurry, idiot." The leader jabbed the torch ominously at the Ranger, "Get in there."
Ament was not pleased. Doran is taking his sweet time. He had better be dead or dying, else he has no excuse for this insolence. The leader was not fond of leaving Jalian in charge of the apparatus, or of allowing Strider within the confines of the newly found trapdoor alone. Jalian would be unable to hold the door for long, which meant that either Ament would have to give Strider leeway with the rope and the torch to explore the discovered room, or he would have to enter it with him. That he did not know what lay within the trapdoor irked him, as it forced his already overwrought intellect into choosing between the lesser of two evils: he would need to enter with Strider.
Therefore, his final, rapidly given orders to Jalian ere he quickly slid through the gap to the awaiting, bound healer were, "I will knock on the slab when we are ready for you to open the door, Jalian. When Doran comes back, tell him where we are."
The scarred mercenary nodded his frightened, blotchy head, his face red with his endeavor to keep the door open, and Ament slipped dexterously into the hidden room. Shortly thereafter, the door slammed shut. Idiot had better not have broken the lever, the leader contemplated hatefully, staring at the closed slab of slate ere turning to Aragorn, leaving Jalian alone, and without light, to await his signal.
"Go on, then," the leader demanded, stabbing out with the enflamed limb again.
The healer complied, causing Ament to laugh. I knew he wouldn't try my patience again. His first bout with the torch has solved that impudence. Unlike the walls of the outer room, but like the mortared block of its doorway, the room in which they now stood was solid, and even its ceiling was better equipped to withstand the weight of the forest floor. Strider walked only a few feet in front of him, not willing to leave the security of the faint circle of light that the torch cast around them in the dense, black atmosphere.
As they drew nearer to the opposite barrier of the room, Ament noted that attached to the walls were several lengthy metal chains replete with sets of shackles, and these were fastened around the moldering, bony remains of what appeared to be several humans, a Dwarf, and what could have been an Orc.
"Looks like we've stumbled onto some merrymaking, Strider. Care to join them?" Snickering, Ament kicked the nearest corpse, its delicate, brittle skeleton clanking together before disconnecting into a heap of bones and clothing. "From the looks of this place, I'm guessing these poor souls pissed the witch off, or he was using them for experiments." The questioning look the healer gave him prompted Ament to explain helpfully, "Melfren was said to have had a secret den for torturing and experimenting. I would say this is his old lair. He was trying to find a better Orc for the Dark One, or so the story is told." Kicking the dusty corpse of the Orc, Ament added, "Must've been disobedient. He used to have Orcs as soldiers."
Tugging the leash with him, the leader became bolder, moving about the large room, searching avidly for the goblet, but finding instead another sliding trapdoor, though this one was broken, the thick slate in pieces in the floor. He motioned for the healer to move through it. There is nothing in this tomb. When Strider had crossed the ramshackle threshold, Ament followed behind, his flame illuminating what would once have been the master's bedroom. Perhaps those weren't experiments but his harem, the leader mused distractedly, his excitement growing with the finding of the moldy, rich decorations surrounding him.
The farthest end of the room lay in shambles, its walls and ceiling caved in, but the end in which they stood was intact. An extravagant bed lay at their side, and on the other side sat a tall armoire with its glass-inlaid doors busted out. Within were arranged a multitude of treasures that would normally have exhilarated Ament; mithril bobbles, a rapier that seemed to be of the First Age, and many other assets. However, the tall, plain golden goblet that sat proudly in the center shelf of the armoire held all of Ament's attention. I have finally found it.
"Get it out, Strider."
The healer had been ogling the collapsed end of the room. I bet there was once a door down there. The entire end of the corridor must be buckled.
"Now, damn it," Ament ordered edgily, thrusting the torch in the general direction of the healer and yanking the leash.
Immediately, the healer moved to the cabinet and stuck his hand warily within the doorframe, reaching slowly towards the goblet. As the healer's fingers brushed the hallowed object, Ament felt a frisson of anticipation. It is mine. Strider prolonged the mercenary's sweet suffering as he gripped the chalice, extricating it by minute increments of motion until he had freed it from the shelf and held it entirely in his hands. Wasting no time, Ament rushed forward, seizing what he believed providence to have bestowed upon him.
Dropping the leash and barely with the sagacity to maintain his hold of the torch, the leader ran into the room of carcasses, pounding on the slab three times to alert Jalian to open the door. "I have it, mate! We've got it, open the door, Jalian," Ament yelled, his glee clearing every scowl line from his face.
Strider walked cautiously into the room, his leash trailing behind him. I'll even let the bastard live, Ament thought graciously. Hell, I'll let them all live but Thranduil's whelp. Might even give them the money I promised, too.
Again, he hammered the slate, shouting louder, "Jalian! Doran! Come on, now. We've got it. Open the damn door!" He inspected the goblet while he waited for the slab to slide open.
It was not abnormal in the least; if he could not feel the emanating promise of evil from it, he would not have been able to discern whether it was just another chalice or not. Nay, this is it.
Laughing hysterically, the mercenary banged on the door, striking the stone incessantly as he bellowed, "Jalian! Doran! Open the door!"
Silence met his request, and as the leader turned to meet the terrified gaze of Strider, Ament realized what the healer had: Jalian and Doran were not outside, and they were trapped within the cell with no way out.
With a gentle push, Legolas was forced into sitting in a small chair. They are as obnoxious as ever, the Prince thought somewhat deliriously and smiled in spite of the pain both smiling and sitting caused. The task of standing, much less walking into the room, had been problematical, but the abrupt change in positions and the harsh contact of his body on the seat had Legolas reeling with pain-induced vertigo.
Elrohir had been talking, and was now asking him questions, and he could not understand the Elf's words, although from the look of the Noldo, he was very concerned. The Prince closed his eyes in concentration. Stay awake, Legolas, he told himself even as his body pitched forward from the chair. Swiftly, the fair Elda was upright again and he opened his eyes: the blurry form before him had their hands on his shoulders, staying his fall. I am only dizzy.
"...lost too much blood," a Noldo stated, coming to stand by the shapeless shadow Legolas believed to be Elrohir.
"...still bleeding, we need to sew..." one of the twins told the other.
His mind was filled with gray fog that obscured the Elves around him. He could well have been back in the dark cell, for he could not comprehend their muffled words: it was as though a wall lay between them. A hand touching his thigh alarmed him instantly, the fog lifted with his reflexive terror, and the Prince stood up quickly, toppling the twin that had been kneeling before him even as Legolas fell backwards over his overthrown chair, landing with an excruciating smack on the dirt floor.
"Go away," he whispered ferociously. No more of this, his disorientated mind supplied.
"Legolas," a soothing voice told him, "do not be afraid."
He could not tell which of the forms had spoken, as he was incapable of opening his eyes against the agony that radiated from his body, waves that were provoked from his impact with the hardened floor. When his breaths came in rapid, small rasps that had his mind whirling violently out of control, he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Do not be afraid, my friend. I am sorry. I did not mean to startle you, Legolas."
It is only Elladan, the Prince wondered, disgracefully incredulous as to how he had mistaken the Elf for one of his captors. As the pain abated, he found he could still not open his eyes, though it was shame at his overreaction, not the pain, which kept them shut.
"I need to sew the gash on your thigh. Will you let me, Legolas?"
The Prince nodded his head, derided but also soothed by the patronizing, benevolent Noldor. Two sets of arms lifted him from the ground and placed him on the soft cloth of a cloak that had been thrown over the room's table.
Ripping the breeches more than they already were, one of the twins told the sentry, "Tirn, hold him down. We do not need him injured further if he becomes distraught again." Immediately, the Prince felt strong hands hold his biceps to the table, the pressure placed on the only part of the Wood-Elf's body that was not bleeding or bruised at the moment.
This is unnecessary. We are wasting time. Ament will find the goblet.
A sharp sting erupted intermittently from his wounded thigh as Elrohir stitched the ragged skin together, but the archer paid it no attention. When someone dribbled miruvor between his cracked, split lips, the Prince swallowed automatically. The irregular stabs of pain from the needle ceased, and Legolas opened his eyes to find Tirn staring down at him, the sentry's face a mask of abject dismay. "Prince Legolas?"
How do they know? It was obvious from Tirn and Elladan's response to the Prince's eschewal of their friendly touch and overall skittishness that the twins and sentry were aware he had been ill used by his captors.
All three of his rescuers began to argue at once, bickering over something of which Legolas could not catch the content. The arrow. I knew the voice was familiar. It was Elrohir. He has seen everything, then. How has this been possible?
"Let me up," the Wood-Elf whispered hoarsely. No one heard him, so intent were they on their quarrel. He swallowed the thick lump in his throat and tried again to break through the arguing Elves, this time his voice carrying to them such that each leant over him to catch his soft words, "Let me sit. I was only lightheaded; it has passed."
Defiantly, the sentry retained his hold of the archer's arms. "Rest, my Prince, please," Tirn begged. Legolas did not bother asking again but rose up, and the sentry removed his restraint dutifully, instead helping the injured Eldar Prince to sit.
"You told me where the arrow lay," the Prince stated stoically to Elrohir, giving no preamble to his words as he situated himself on the table as comfortably as he could.
Although Tirn and Elladan had both been present, only Elrohir understood of what the archer asked. "I did," the Noldo replied. "I am sorry we did not arrive sooner, Legolas."
The Prince looked down, his face blank. "I am sorry you have witnessed my debasement, Elrohir, but I thank you for your council. I was in dire need of it."
The Noldo smiled kindheartedly, placing a hand lightly on the Elf's bare shoulder, "You are most welcome. You can repay the favor by accompanying Tirn back to Eryn Galen as soon as possible. He will –"
"No," both Legolas and Tirn started to counter simultaneously, who then looked at each other in surprise, though the Prince finished his sentence, "I have made a pact with Strider. We leave together or not at all. Besides," he declared, pinning each of his fellow Elves with a tired glare that dared them to argue, "I have yet to hear what danger the goblet Ament seeks may bring. I'll not leave until I am assured Eryn Galen is safe."
Tirn nodded his assent but disputed despite his sovereign's warning gaze, "I agree, my Prince, but perhaps you and either Lord Elrohir or Lord Elladan could journey to the palace. I will stay in your stead to aid the Ranger and make certain –"
"I think not, Tirn. It is our brother that is missing. Neither of us will turn away. Take the Prince home," Elladan interrupted.
Ranger? Strider? I should have known. Legolas would have laughed had not the gravity of Elladan and Tirn's quarrel prevented him. Sweet Eru, we do not have time for this.
Elrohir must have arrived at the same conclusion, for he seized the two bickering Elves' arms, "Enough. None of us is leaving, apparently, so let us confer. We need a plan." He turned his attention to Legolas, "Tell us what you know of the goblet."
The Prince explained to him in brief: "I do not know much. Strider knows more, though we never had the occasion to speak of it in length. When I was captured, the two men who detained me said that the goblet would bring immortality. Later, the men alluded to using the goblet to wage war against the Elves." Frowning, Legolas added to his disjointed tale as he shifted uneasily on the table, "But Ament confessed to Strider that he sought it to exact revenge on my father for some ill he believes perpetrated against him, using me as bait to both grieve King Thranduil and take the wealth of Eryn Galen."
Rubbing the knot on the side of his head, the Prince watched the Noldor twins and his sentry exchange confused glances. We've not the time for this. We need action, not talk. He made to say so, but Elrohir nodded in the direction of the door. Without additional instruction, Elladan peeked out into the corridor. He stayed there, keeping watch and a keen ear focused outside as Elrohir restarted the story he had been disclosing before the Prince had relapsed into his agonized stupor.
The Noldo stroked the hilt of the sword at his waist as he recited the legend he had heard: "I do not know the true intentions of your captors but the goblet would not aid them in their quest. It is cursed, and any who uses it will lose himself in the Darkness, vanished from Arda, while the goblet's maker, Melfren, will come back from the Darkness, commandeering the soulless body."
Tirn gasped; like the Prince, he had heard of Melfren from stories told but did not know of the fabled goblet, and queried, "What of Melfren, and how came he to fashion such an object of Dark power?"
"Melfren was a once powerful human witch, trained in the Black arts of Mordor, who desired the immortality of the Elves. For all his power, he could not obtain that which he most longed for, eternal life, and so the witch found a way, although not all went as planned." Casting a quick glance at his twin to ascertain that they were still safe, Elrohir continued summarily, "If Ament uses the goblet, he will become Melfren. If the witch returns, much more than Eryn Galen is unsafe, for Melfren's loyalty aligns with Mordor. Such an artifact in the hands of our common enemy would endanger all of Middle Earth."
I wonder if Strider knows of this, Legolas thought. It is now an understatement that he said this mire of deceit and greed was complicated.
"But you claim it is cursed, my Lord," the sentry asked, perplexed. "How so?"
Stepping forward to adjust a loosened bandage wrapped around Legolas' torso, the Elven Lord explained patiently, "The lore tells that Melfren died in his hideaway ere he ever used the charmed goblet. As he lay dying, the witch cursed it, castigating any who uses it by displacing his soul with Melfren's Black spirit so that he could one day live on."
He did not doubt the accuracy of the Noldo's account; however, Legolas was unsettled as to why he had been taken, and so inquired, "Ament did not know who I am until I tried to escape. Why would he have abducted just any Elf?"
"He needs an Elf for the goblet to work," the twin replied, shivering at the implications of what the Prince asked. "The goblet was charmed such that one who drank the blood of an Elf from it would gain immortal life. After it was cursed, Melfren will obtain both eternal life and another body with which to live it."
The small room fell silent as Legolas and Tirn mulled the sordid legend, until a thunderous echo reverberated in the hallway outside the door. "That sounded like the roof collapsing," Elladan declared, moving into the room. "Estel is in there, somewhere. We need to find him."
Another question the Prince had yearned to ask resurfaced, "Where is here? Where are we?"
"Under the Mirkwood forest," Tirn answered as he aided the Prince in standing from the table, and then continued, "We crawled through an odd opening in the midst of several tree trunks. I do not know what kind of place this is, but it was well hidden."
We are under the twisted trees Doran was chopping. Thinking of the now slain mercenary caused the archer's flesh to crawl, and he shuddered involuntarily.
"Prince Legolas?" The sentry tightened his hold of his monarch's arm.
"I am well, Tirn. Do not worry," Legolas lied as he followed the twins out of the room. "We should find Strider, and Ament, ere this whole place collapses."
They had barely made it to the door when another roaring reverberation came rolling down the corridor, and soil rained harmlessly down on them from above, though it portended a much greater downfall should the corridor's structure be compromised further. When the dirt had ceased to fly, and they could finally breathe without doubt again, all four Elves turned towards the darkened hallway at the sound of fast approaching footsteps.