Min Gannen, Min Dolen [One Caught, One Concealed]
"Eru's Arse!"
The foul curse was uttered in exasperated umbrage as the
speaker landed with an undignified thump into the leafy mould of the
forest floor. This was the third time in as many days that Erestor had
found himself sprawled face first in the duff. It was as though the
very roots were mobile, purposefully emerging from the soil to tug at
his toes and ensnare his feet.
A loud report, reminiscent of a stout, wooden pike striking flesh
covered bone, for such indeed it was, rang out followed immediately by
a shrill shout of misery.
"Do not blaspheme!" retorted a sternly bellowing voice. "If you cannot
see the way to tread, that is not the fault of any but yourself, and
your inferior breeding, perhaps."
"Inferior!" the victim of this assault rubbed his head appraisingly and
discovered an unpleasantly large and painful knot arising there. "You
dare to speak such insults to me, a survivor of Gondolin? Much nobility
marks my lineage culminating in courageous sacrifice in the defence of
Turgon's city. My own father perished there at the King's side!"
"Well then, what would he say of your recent actions, Erestor of
Imladris? Have you even considered the shame you bring to his feä
in the Halls of Waiting?" intoned Radagast as he stretched out his hand
to aid the seneschal's return to his feet.
Erestor immediately found his skin burning in both anger and shame upon
considering this terrible consequence of his thoughtless manoeuvrings
and abuses against the wild Wood Elf.
"Peace, Aiwendil; you are right. I am unworthy of Adar's regard and he
may choose to deny his own son whenever we may meet. How bitter is the
result of this escapade!" he moaned.
Aiwendil was not moved to compassion and merely glared with even
greater fury upon the Noldo Lord. The Istar cared not a whit for
Erestor's loss of status and respect. He had only agreed to lead the
Imladrian into the Woodland Realm's stronghold in order to see him
punished for his exploitation of Legolas' isolated and lonely existence.
The Brown Wizard disregarded that the devastating revelation Erestor
had introduced had been offered to alleviate the archer's sorrows. Even
if adding to Legolas' troubles had been unintentional, the Tawarwaith
should not have learned from this outsider how his so dearly loved and
admired guardsman had cruelly used him.
The gentle Maia also knew some of this rage was directed upon the Noldo
to shield his own guilty conscience. If Radagast had taken up the
responsibility and informed Legolas about Malthen's relationship with
Ningloriel perhaps the Istar would not be worrying whether the wild elf
was now alive or dead.
"I do not think you will be allowed into Mandos' domain, Erestor. Your
feä will roam until the end of Arda, houseless and alone, shunned
and feared by those you love. Orophin and Dambethnîn will not
wish to have you reborn into their lives, I assure you!" he continued
brutally and was pleased to see the elf wince.
Erestor did not reply to this, for his mouth had gone dry as his heart
began pounding out his apprehensive acceptance that Radagast's
predictions would be proved true. The concept of the Halls of Waiting
bespoke a loss of immortal life by violence or fading in grief. In the
current direction of their travels, the first option was not unlikely
should Thranduil accuse him of espionage. If his bond mates were to
disown him for being part of so despicable an endeavour then the second
outcome awaited the seneschal.
A core of dreadful panic formed within Erestor's soul and his stomach
contracted around the sudden sick sensation arising there. He had been
trying desperately not to think about his lovers' reactions to these
circumstances, with little success, and the wizard's words were as oil
on fire.
They will be shocked, disgusted. They will call me 'Noldo' in icy
contempt, never to be their Pen-raun again!
The Galadhrim pair knew Erestor was often in and out of bed with a
variety of young elves, but this they tolerated with a rather amused
attitude of understanding acquiescence. He spent years at a time away
from them, and Orophin and Dambethnîn did not begrudge him
whatever ease he required for his lonely days. As long as his activity
did not infringe upon the well-being of another's heart, the bonded
couple was unconcerned.
I cannot expect them to condone this. They will look upon me as
though
I am someone they do not know, for my actions have been so
dishonourably vile. How will they reconcile such crimes with the
irrepressible rake they eagerly enveloped within their glorious bond?
Erestor inwardly cringed upon imagining their cold, scandalised
expressions within formerly loving eyes.
His trepidation to face them had prompted the seneschal's determination
to right as much of the wrong he had perpetrated as possible. At least
then he could beg forgiveness and hope for an eventual dispensation and
merciful absolution. Thus, after five days of arguing and beseeching,
on the same day that Legolas first encountered Aragorn and Mithrandir,
the Noldo had finally convinced the Istar to guide him through the
forest to Thranduil's stronghold. There Erestor intended to plead the
cause of the disgraced prince and entreat the King for aid to search
for him, irregardless of any reprisals he might face for his
unwarranted presence within the Greenwood.
To his credit, small though it might be upon the ledger's tally of red
marks, Erestor focused on these aspects of the dilemma only because he
could not bear to consider that his thoughtless self-indulgence and
heedless words had robbed Middle-earth of the unique magnificence that
was Legolas. If he found that the archer had perished from having his
heart rended so utterly by the seneschal's comments, Erestor knew he,
too, would despair.
None of this could he bring himself to speak, and so relied upon his
usual attitude of cocky impudence to get him through the plodding days
in the Maia's company, a flimsy shield against the unrestrained
antipathy roiling off the wizard's person in waves of engulfing heat.
Not to mention the flocks of assorted jays, grackles, ravens, and even
a solitary eagle that periodically swooped over him, diving low to
snatch at his hair or peck his scalp, frequently defecating on him in
the process, all aware of the interloper's egregious acts by virtue of
Aiwendil's communion with bird-kind.
And everytime an expletive or an oath passed Erestor's lips, the Maia's
sturdy new staff connected with his body most ungently.
Aiwendil, being wise in the ways of the forest, often journeyed through
the woods using the byways of the elves. He spent his days paying calls
upon the human inhabitants of the central regions of Greenwood,
attempting to heal the trees overcome with darkness, and searching for
Sauron's Ring. In fact, so much of his time was occupied with the
latter task that he was known more for his periodic occupation in and
around Sír Ninglor [River Gladden] than his true lodgings of
Rhosgobel beside the Anduin.
Yet rare were his visits to the Wood Elves' city and he had been within
Thranduil's stronghold but once or twice. Nonetheless he was as
determined as Erestor to succeed in their venture and hoped to be able
to find Fearfaron and gain at least his assistance, for the wizard knew
no help would come from the King.
Of the movements of the Orcs from Dol Guldur, more knowledge had the
Istar than any other, save Legolas, and his avian allies had kept him
well versed in the steady movement of the monsters towards the Mirkwood
Mountains. Thus Radagast had chosen to travel across the open lowlands
in the valley of the Great River. Along this path, they encountered no
beasts of evil from Melkor's making and met no travellers upon the way.
Only when reaching the Ford and the Old Forest Road did the wizard at
last remark signs of other feet heading for the woods.
Here the earth was trampled and churned, the grass crushed and impacted
down into the soil by the weight of a great host that had made for the
eaves of the Greenwood with all speed. Grimly the two acknowledged
these foreboding indications, for this could only be the trail of Orcs
marching out of the Misty Mountains and into the Woodland Realm. These
were fresh tracks and showed travel in only one direction.
The pair moved on quickly, having no desire to encounter this army on
its return journey.
Neither Radagast nor Erestor expressed their fears, which ranged from
concern for the safe passage of Elrond, who must surely have used this
route on his return to Imladris, to apprehension over the fate of the
Tawarwaith, the probable target of this unexpected invasion, alone and
in the grave grip of grieving's throes.
The Maia and the Noldo had continued further upstream before turning
finally towards the darkly looming trees, entering at the Forest Gate
where the Elf Path would lead them quickest to Thranduil's city. Once
under the canopy, Greenwood at once recognised the identity of the
trespasser, naming him Pen Togel Pelleth [One Bringing Fading] and did
not spare him either upturned roots or the occasional falling limb.
Erestor was collecting a wide assortment of bruises and scrapes and by
the second day among the trees was limping along painfully behind the
Maia.
It was thus that on this the third day he failed to avoid the latest
reprisal of the forest and received another allotment of Aiwendil's
corporal and verbal scolding.
In silence they proceeded once the seneschal was upright, and after an
hour's passing the wizard abruptly halted and leaned upon his cane.
Erestor looked at him in apprehensive bewilderment.
"What are we stopping for?" he demanded, making sure he was beyond the
reach of the smooth beech-wood wizard's weapon. Erestor found the
coolly sneering look Aiwendil trained upon him most unsettling. He
knew, despite his complaints, that, had he so chosen, the Maia could
easily have exacted a severe retribution on Legolas' behalf, and thus
the Noldo considered himself fortunate up to this point. He had no
desire to spend his eternal life locked into some inanimate form: a
tree, a rock or a cloud of dust even, and eyed the Istar cautiously.
Perhaps the intensity of this scrutiny is what dampened his normally
elevated senses, or more likely it was the higher degree of stealth
endemic to the Wood Elves. In any case, Erestor discovered with
amazement that he and the wizard were surrounded by a rather large
contingent of Sylvan warriors, all of them in the trees save two, each
with bow armed and aimed in careful accuracy upon the Imladrian.
Erestor instinctively laid his hand upon his side, searching for the
hilt of his sword, only to recall that he had taken to carrying it
strapped down on his pack at Legolas' urging. He cursed silently as he
saw the leader of these woodland fighters, one of the two upon the
path, smirking at this fruitless groping.
"Greetings, Aiwendil of the Gladden Glen! What brings you forth into
our lands, and with such malodorous chattel?" the elf said
good-naturedly.
At this Erestor looked as though he might protest, but the captain's
brooding lieutenant narrowed a frightful glare upon him, pulling even
greater tension upon his ready bow, and the seneschal closed his mouth.
"Ah, Talagan, is it not?" answered the wizard, and the Elven captain
inclined his head in assent. "I have come seeking news of the
Tawarwaith, for he fled my care at the encouragement of this miscreant
invader upon the Greenwood."
"That is enlightening," said Talagan. "For we have just completed a
sweep of the region, cleansing the lands of the foulness of Dol Guldur.
We came upon Tirno with two companions, Mithrandir and a human, engaged
in a most pressing battle with the combined forces of Orcs from the
Central and Misty Mountains. The trio survived and are presently in
recovery at the stronghold."
"Thank Eru! You have set my heart at ease, Talagan. Take us hence, I
would see Legolas with my own eyes and speak with Gandalf," said
Aiwendil with evident relief, and next to him Erestor also audibly
exhaled a prayer of thanks to the Valar.
"I will guide you willingly, wizard, but as for your companion I have
yet to decide. Who is this?"
The Sinda warrior knew exactly who stood before him, but could not
resist the opportunity to belittle the noble Elf Lord. Talagan took a
leisurely stroll completely around the tense Noldo, looking him up and
down, marking his dishevelled appearance and filth covered hair and
garments with derisive glee. He waved his hand in front of his nose as
if clearing away an abominable stench.
Erestor realised he must look a deplorable sight, but straightened his
spine and shoulders as he boldly met the warrior's mocking gaze.
"I am not so unkempt, Talagan of Neldoreth, that you do not recognise
me. It is I, Erestor of Imladris, who stands before you."
"Oh yes, Erestor, I remember you! By your insolent tone I surmise it is
your memory that has lapsed! Have you driven from your guilty heart the
hour that you and your kin brought upon mine a slaughter of irrevocable
torment? My wife and son lie now in the Dead Marshes; never could I
even bring their bodies home to rest!" At the close of this speech a
discontented and outraged murmuring arose from the branches above as
several more warriors voiced similar complaints relating to the Last
Alliance.
The noiseless flight of a single arrow silenced everyone as it soared
from the trees and plowed into the hard packed trail at the Noldo's
feet.
"Enough!" called out Radagast and uplifted his arms, staff in hand. A
strong surge of radiant heat poured up into the heights and the
warriors shifted their positions as the fiery might of the Ainu rolled
past. "I will see justice done, but not here on the pathways. Take us
to Thranduil!"
Talagan nodded his head in agreement. He recalled glimpsing Erestor's
name among the toll of degrading phrases etched upon the message sent
from Elrond, and his King's words replayed through his mind. The Noldo
Lord had turned the Wood Elf King against his own flesh and blood, then
intensified that injury by visiting his destructive seductions upon the
disinherited prince, and only after this debasement did Elrond reveal
his ruse to Thranduil. These were offences as despicable as kinslaying,
in Talagan's opinion, and Erestor had participated fully.
Yet the later actions of intrusion upon both the Greenwood and its
champion could never have proceeded without the Judgement as a backdrop.
The veteran of the Last Alliance had often relived the aftermath of the
Battle of Erebor and his dreams were populated with scenes of his
vicious recriminations and harsh battlefield condemnation of Legolas.
In the long days that followed, the worthy captain grieved for this as
much as he regretted the death of Andamaitë, a distant cousin
through his mother's lineage. It had taken only the passing of the
initial wrath born of the heavy losses his company had endured to
realise he had been rash in his judgement of the archer.
Nay, not merely rash and heedless. I allowed myself to seek a focus
for my fury and divert my mind from the truth. I was the one at fault
that day.
Too late Talagan had attempted to amend his report to Thranduil, taking
the responsibility for devising that diversionary tactic with so little
supportive forces to assist. Nor should he have left but one sniper to
cover the Goblin. And how had he failed to note the emergence of foes
along the ridge? As the company's captain, he had argued, he was
ultimately the one who must bear the consequences for the ill-made
plans and their horrendous outcome. In vain did he try to convince the
King to withhold the Judgement. His subsequent guilty shame had caused
Talagan to all but abandon the
city for the harrowing duty of the Southern Patrol. Over the years, it
had been his troop that had surreptitiously defended Legolas in his
work to create the Orc traps.
Looking upon the Noldo interloper who had sought to find advantage from
the disgrace of another, Talagan allowed his disgust to show forth. As
for the other implications of the letter, the Sinda was not prepared to
address such issues, but found it difficult to attribute any verity to
the accusations. Legolas had never displayed lascivious behaviour and
indeed the Sinda warrior could not recall the archer ever pairing up
with anyone, excepting that one indiscreet messenger. Indeed, it was
Talagan who, having been regaled with the lover's explicit stories, had
encouraged the foul-mouthed elf to leave before he found himself
reassigned to a more active role within the guards.
Recalled to the present by the Imladrian advisor's fidgeting, Talagan
glanced up into the trees and quickly whistled a series of commands to
his troop. Silently they melted into the cover and vanished, save for
two who dropped down beside Erestor and seized him by the arms.
"Bind him!" ordered the Sinda, and his subordinates complied, securing
Erestor's hands behind him and his ankles together.
"This is not necessary! Peacefully I will go with you! Aiwendil,
explain to them that I asked you to bring me here," the seneschal
pleaded as he struggled against the ropes, but Radagast ignored him,
walking away with Talagan a short distance. Erestor watched in
consternation as the two quietly conversed, glancing occasionally in
his direction, and then saw the captain's lieutenant leading horses
onto the path.
The warriors guarding him hefted Erestor up and slung him ungently over
one of the animal's whithers. Talagan himself mounted this horse and
laughed smugly as the Noldo craned his head backward in an effort to
look the Sinda in the eye.
"I repeat, this is unnecessary, Talagan! I will make no effort to
escape!" the seneschal tried once more to convince the warrior of his
earnestness and thus gain the dignity of riding into the Stronghold of
the Woodland King, rather than be toted in like so much baggage, or a
hunting trophy.
The captain, however, had a rather faraway expression on his features,
recalling another time he had carried a burden in such a manner into
the Stronghold, and regretting the cause of that grisly scene. He felt
no sympathy for the Noldo whatsoever, and merely gave the signal for
departure. With Aiwendil mounted behind his lieutenant, Talagan and his
comrades made for the mountain fortress.
These events unfolded beneath the rustling of summer-dried leaves on
the swaying branches of the oaks and beeches, the Greenwood now nearly
silent as the rowdy ruckus of nesting birds and fledging chicks was
done and the scurrying scavenging of four-footers to harvest nuts and
fruits for winter's dearth accomplished. While Erestor attempted
to dissuade his captors from treating him so shamefully, the current
recipients of the King's hospitality were engaged in an intricately
evasive side-stepping ballet. The sextet divided, differentiating
by maturity into dually equal groups, and while the more youthful trio
worked in accord the other triad desegregated again by race, and the
individuals sought to evade the company of the rest without alerting
anyone to this intent.
It was at best an ungraceful attempt, and none of the three adults
involved managed to master the steps.
Upon leaving the Tawarwaith's quarters, Fearfaron at once sought to
shake off the other two. He was certain he could not keep an eye
on the young ones effectively if his comrades remained at his side, for
only the carpenter, being elf-kind, would be quiet enough to follow
without drawing notice. He claimed to have remembered an
appointment with the tailor to retrieve the remainder of the new
garments he had ordered for Legolas. While this was actually
true, Fearfaron had no plans to leave the Stronghold or his adopted
son. The clothing could wait another day, for then Legolas would
be safely ensconced in Annaldír's old room in his comfortable
talan on the edge of the city.
Mithrandir stared at the elf that had just uttered this bald, misspoken
half-truth and lifted both his bristling brows in open disbelief.
Usually an effective method, his stern silence did not goad the humble
craftsman into admitting his true agenda. Mithrandir
frowned. The wizard decided the best way to stop Legolas' plans
was to be with him, and he also needed to learn more about how the
recent infusion of energy might be affecting the wild elf. This
could not be done with the Man and the carpenter present. Gandalf
thus claimed that he could not truly get around in the city very
comfortably as his wounded leg still pained him and he planned to
retire to his rooms next door and rest for a time. He had to
catch up on a great deal of correspondence and then wash and trim his
beard.
The scepticism with which the mortal greeted these statements was just
short of open derision as he gawked from the elf to the Maia in turn,
fists firmly planted on his hips as he surveyed them with an
incredulous scowl. Mithrandir had already trudged down to the kitchens
and back at least twice, and the carpenter was unlikely to care about
when he picked up the laundry. And yet, Aragorn did not challenge
them openly, for he too had plans that he knew would be aborted if the
wizard and the elf understood them. Instead Aragorn gruffly reported
that he had some personal matters to attend to, though he was
acquainted with no one in the Woodland Realm, other than these two and
the young elves inside, such that he could not possibly have anything
of a personal nature that would require his attention!
The three stood awkwardly outside the heavy oaken door to the wild
elf's rooms in the torch lit hallway poised to move out to their
respective destinations, each awaiting the others' retreat first.
Two minutes passed, the seconds flowing with all the speed of glacial
ice, and none of them budged.
Gandalf cleared his throat.
Fearfaron sighed heavily.
Aragorn cursed through gritted teeth. "Valar! This is
nonsense!"
"True," agreed Gandalf. "Each of us wants to remain with the young
ones. We know Legolas is once more following some dangerous
course, else he would not have bid us all three to go."
"Aye, but what must be done? We cannot simply follow him
everywhere; he will think we treat him like a child!" added
Fearfaron. "It was my intent to shadow his movements in secrecy,
yet this I cannot achieve with the two of you along!"
"I doubt he would be unaware of your attempt even if we left you to
it," Aragorn disagreed. "Legolas has keener senses than any I
have ever met!"
"Aye, and an agenda we cannot guess, or rather one I fear to learn!"
the carpenter hissed.
"We must confront him then!" growled the wizard and grasping the door's
handle shoved it open. The three stared into the chambers in
surprise and then hastened within. Quickly and silently they
searched through every corner in vain. The Tawarwaith's suite was
empty.
In this Erestor had guessed correctly all those years ago: Legolas
indeed knew the cavernous stronghold better than its delvers, and every
means of vacating it. Each room in the fortress had an alternate
outlet that lead to a clever series of channels designed to guide the
occupants safely from the fortress. He had located the concealed
hatchway marking his room's bolthole the previous day while Mithrandir
was dozing before the fire.
The hidden escape route was less a series of tunnels than a network of
narrow chutes, wide enough for single file movement on hands and
knees. Like the dendritic tributaries of a mighty river system,
the cut passages wound sinuously through the stone from level to level,
connecting the various chambers to the broader artery of the servants'
steps. But the tunnels also provided an ultimate exit from the
stronghold apart from that utilitarian means of navigation throughout
the structure.
Upon reaching the level of the forest floor, the cramped crawlway
proceeded straight and true to an insignificant looking cave that
opened upon a small sheltered cove on the banks of the Forest River,
just upstream from the docks. Within that unremarkable den were
supplies and provisions, weapons and maps, and sturdy kayaks were
stacked there should they be needed in the event of the fortress
falling to enemy occupation.
Not toward this egress did Legolas lead his friend and sibling,
however, but instead branched away from the main tunnel into an even
narrower rock-walled tube. So steep was the incline in this route
that the walls and floor of the stony passage were worked to provide
smoothed hand and foot holds within easy reach.
The trio proceeded in silence with Legolas leading, bearing a small
silver lantern to grant them light in the close coldness of the
entombing rock. Lindalcon followed, carrying Gwilith, who stared
wide eyed with thumb in mouth and the picture book clutched to her
heart, at the dancing shadows and adamantine flashes of lamplight on
muscovite. Before long the two older elves were panting from the
exertion, each relegated to but one arm to assist in the ascent, but
their journey was short and presently Legolas set his lamp upon the
floor of a small room above his head and hauled himself up.
Reaching back for Gwilith, he took her from her brother's arms and set
her down next to him, then assisted Lindalcon in joining them.
They took a moment to steady their breathing.
"Well done!" said Legolas at last. His side was throbbing and his
leg felt practically aflame, but he was never one to let such pains
hinder him, especially since he was certain the wounds were
sufficiently healed over to prevent them tearing open again.
"Now, there is the connection to the back stairs," he said, pointing to
another opening in the stone surface. "Go take Gwilith to your
Naneth and follow the rest of the day's schedule as you normally
would. I will make my way by this more covert means to the
nursery rooms and meet you there at the evening meal. Do not
forget about the diversion, Lindalcon."
"Alright, but I still fear for the results this will bring," said the
younger elf as he collected up his sister and half-crouched,
half-crawled toward the gaping black hole.
"Limlas, come with Gwilith!" the frightened child's frantic cry
rebounded loudly from the stony walls, dancing heavily among the
shifting shadows cast by Legolas' lamp. She did not like the way
her brother's heart was pounding so ferociously within his chest as he
moved into the tangible darkness of the tunnel.
"Ai! How could I be so thoughtless!" replied Legolas. "It
will be well, Gwilith. Here, take the lantern, Lindalcon.
The little one cannot bear such absence of light."
But Gwilith was gripped with an inexpressible terror, for within her
childish mind had sprung the thought that once she could no longer see
her new big brother; Legolas would cease to exist. She tried to
grab for him when he held out the lamp, but Lindalcon held her tight
and she could not reach.
"Legolas!" she whimpered in despair and both her brothers heard her
distress.
"Hush, Gwilith, there is nothing to fear. We are going to show
Taurant the book, remember?" the Tawarwaith coaxed her with a gentle
smile. "I am going this way now, but we will meet later."
"Aye, the quicker we go the faster we will all be out of this nasty
place," added Lindalcon with feeling.
Gwilith looked from one to the other and returned her thumb to her
mouth, not completely convinced but unable to explain herself
better. She gave a small sigh and kept her tearful eyes upon the
archer.
Lindalcon lifted the lantern, illuminating a silent expression of
gratitude for his friend, for he was not eager to face such total
blindness himself, but allowed Legolas to see his worry also. How
would he fare in such conditions, in a duct even more confining?
"All will be well," the wild warrior reassured, placing a comforting
hand on the younger elf's shoulder with a slight squeeze and a pat, a
small grin upon his features as the lamplight drew sparkles from his
gleaming eyes. He had been in worse places.
They parted then, and Legolas waited until the faint gleam of the
silver lantern faded into obscurity and the darkness took on a depth
and consistency he had experienced only once before. He inhaled
deeply and groped forward, returning to the shaft that was barely wide
enough for even his slender form to fit within without touching upon
the sides.
The slope was gentle at first, yet he knew there were at least three
more levels to climb before he would be near the Royal Apartment.
He had a clear vision of where he was heading; having spent some time
figuring out exactly what rooms the suite comprised, and he kept this
interior diagram foremost in his mind, seeing it with a keener
sharpness now that the stimulus of sight was revoked.
With little to do but sit and think, he had used the days of
confinement to recall the general layout of these interlocking
conduits. Though the arrangements of the quarters had been
slightly altered, the rooms themselves were in no different places than
they had ever been. One simply could not fill a hole in stone,
healing over the rock as though no delving had occurred. So all
he needed to understand was what the new chamber assignments were for
the household. Through innocuously deceptive questioning of both
Gladhadithen and Lindalcon, Legolas had managed to map out the location
of the nursery and a probable course for reaching his destination.
He had not asked directly, for he wished them to be able to truthfully
insist that neither had divulged this information, should any
questioning follow and reprisals ensue.
The narrow tube began its incline, starting a steep ascent through the
persistent darkness and Legolas was once more forced to use the grips
cut into the stone, pulling himself hand over hand as though the
exiguous gutter was a twisting ladder of monumental proportions.
In the blindness of the unending pitch and impenetrable shadow, the
archer's hearing seemed acutely intense, and he could discern the
rasping of grit slipping beneath his fingers and toes as he made
contact with each groove. The ricochet of minute fragments of
rock, dislodged by his progress, was inordinately exaggerated, seeming
as loud as egg-sized stones bouncing down the passageway below him to
strike the landing with sharp finality. Legolas knew the distance
was not great and he would not be injured seriously by a fall, yet the
noise was still unsettling.
He heard his own breathing, steady yet laboured, weighted more than it
should be by the burden of over-exertion and stress upon a body not
fully healed. The sound made an eerie echo all around him, so
that soon it seemed as though he had at least two more elves in his
wake and followed behind another. Thinking this reminded him of
the spirits in the treasure chambers, and his heart began a more
insistent staccato.
Now the increased tempo of this vital organ fairly thundered in his
ears, and a minuscule bud of panic sought to bloom within his soul as
the racing pulse thumped ever louder, mixing with the harshly
resounding heaving of his lungs. Legolas halted in the compressed
space and sought to calm his mood. He could not allow the stygian
air to claim his reason and disorient him, for he could not afford to
lose his way. No matter his resolve and his bold reassurances to
Lindalcon, the wild warrior knew he could not last long within the
tenebrous confinement, yet refused to dissolve his plans.
In vain he tried to bring back to his inner sight the mental map of the
interwoven tunnels. Instead, images of darkly shifting shapes,
formless yet coherent in their malignancy, loomed through his
perception. It was like the crawling terror spawned by the
Wraiths, or the sinking in his gut just as he sensed a spider about to
strike. Legolas shook his head, hoping to dislodge the feeling of
engulfing evil, for logic told him no one was in this conduit with him.
He attempted to link with Tawar, seeking a stabilising centre point for
his confused impressions, but there was not even a desiccated root with
which to connect and hundreds of feet of impenetrable rock blocked the
joining. An empty space yawned in his soul in the absence of this
communion, unbearable and terrifying. It seemed he might never
know the Greenwood's consciousness again, and his sprouting anxiety
grew rapidly into robust foreboding.
I have entered into my own tomb! I will perish like a tree uprooted,
for so do I also need the sustaining strength of Tawar's union!
The mountain seeks to consume me; my feä will join the bereft
souls in the chamber of the three doors!
The Tawarwaith forced his brain to work, compelling his reason to exert
itself and refute such nonsense, chiding his foolishness even as he
quailed against the tide of abandonment and isolation flooding through
his being. The tube had a beginning and an ending, a destination
that served his needs. He was not a prisoner here; he was
escaping from one. Merely an arm's span or two in any direction,
though it be through solid stone, were rooms and hallways, caverns and
alcoves wherein his friends and the household at large were going about
their day.
Lindalcon is putting himself at grave risk to aid me in this; I
cannot
fail here!
He found he was trembling and sternly took himself in hand, demanding
his legs to push him up, commanding his fingers to grope for the next
slot in the rough-hewn rock. His breath now was a wind of
determined exhalations as he sought to vent the over abundance of
nervous adrenaline pumping through his veins. He counted each
groove his fingers grasped and found this provided a distraction for
his mind and slowed the racing pace of his vivid imagination.
Legolas closed his eyes and sought again to recreate the inner vision
of the map of the tunnels, visualising his current position and
estimating the distance remaining to the next level. Even as he
did so, his hand abruptly flailed into open space as he searched for
the next handle, and with a great sigh of relief he pushed up onto the
small, level landing.
For a moment he rested, drawing in long slow breaths as his heart
returned to a less tumultuous rhythm and his terror subsided.
Only two more levels remained and he would be done with this repulsive
journey. Now he must take care and choose the correct passageway,
or he would find himself upon the servants' steps and be forced to
retrace his movements into the oppressive gloom. Legolas was not
certain, should he break into light in the wrong place, if he would
have the stomach to return to the eternal eclipse.
Reaching forth into the void as he crawled forward on the tiny
platform, Legolas' hand brushed a smooth spot on the rock wall, and
this brought him to a halt. None of the surfaces in such a place
should be polished, for no one travelled such paths in leisure or by
choice, and never would the finish be observed. He let his
fingers delicately inspect the area, sending the sensations to his mind
so that he formed an image there even in the lightless murk.
There were runes carved into the stone, strange in form and unfamiliar
to his comprehension. Over and over he traced the incised marks,
unable to decipher the meaning there, and in a flash he realised these
were dwarven in nature.
At once he found the discovery reassuring, for somehow he had forgotten
that living beings had made these burrowings. He had begun to
feel that he was truly in the bowels of a huge monster, slowly being
digested, reduced to merely a source of nourishment for some foul and
evil presence.
Dwarves he knew not, and though he had seen them at the Battle of
Erebor and upon the Forest Road journeying to destinations he had never
bothered to be curious about, he had not once spoken with any. He
was aware of the incarceration of a small contingent of the children of
Aulë that had strayed from this common course through the forest
several years before, but Legolas had not been in the Sylvan's city
then, away on patrol to the north of the stronghold.
Now he wondered about this stalwart race of beings, composed by the
love of Yavanna's husband of the stuff of the world, given the spark of
the living Music as an afterthought of Iluvatar.
Is this mark the name of one of the workers Thranduil hired?
Perhaps it is a sign, directions for navigation.
Somehow contemplating the author of the untranslatable writing steadied
the woodland archer. The conduits were not designed to confuse and
plague the inhabitants, keeping them hopelessly lost until hysteria and
irrational terrors subdued them. These shafts and ducts were
safeguards against annihilation at the Enemy's hands.
The dwarves had taken care to make the tunnels safe and true, and he no
longer felt that the mountain in which they were cut was malevolent.
Instead he sensed the remnant presence of the stout and sturdy miners
at their work, completely at home beneath the overwhelming immensity of
the granitic core of the fortress, and the ease with which the dwarves
negotiated the labyrinth bolstered Legolas' faith in his own ability to
do likewise.
With renewed determination to reach his goal and a resurgence of his
strong desire to behold the newborn prince, the Tawarwaith resumed his
taxing climb with unflagging diligence.
Tbc
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