Chapter
9
The
darkness was getting closer and closer to him. He looked around
desperately for a way out, but he could find none. Tendrils
of darkness reached out, ensnaring him in their grasp. He struggled,
but to no avail. Far too late he remembered Elbereth’s
warning back in Valinor.
“There is a great shadow moving towards those lands, a
shadow that would consume your soul without hesitation.”
“Was this what she meant?” He wondered as the darkness
took him further into its grasp. He could feel it invading his
soul. He fought back the fear that threatened to paralyse him.
He had to free himself from this darkness. Too much was riding
on him to fail now! Summoning all his energy, he focused on
the world outside the shadow, trying to pull his spirit to the
lighter place beyond.
With painfully slow movements he pulled himself away from the
dark and back into the light. He gasped as his soul touched
the edge of the shadow, almost shrinking back from the tangible
evil. But he pressed on, fear for his friends continuing to
drive him.
Then, with a feeling that could only be described as an explosion
within himself, he broke free and found himself once more in
the palace hall. As he watched, the shadow once more took the
vague form of a man. A portal opened up behind it and it vanished
into the blackness before Legolas could so much as move.
For a while after the shadow had gone, Legolas stood motionless.
He had been deeply shaken by what he’d experienced, never
before had he come so close to such evil. Had he been alive,
he would have been breathing very deeply.
Yet despite the terror, he had learned much. He had a better
idea now of what this being was and what exactly it wanted.
But he still did not know how to defeat it. That brief encounter
had almost sent him into eternal darkness, longer exposure surely
would. “There must be a way.” He whispered. “There
has to be.”
~It
had to admit, It was surprised. The spirit had proven a lot
stronger than expected. That the ghost had managed to escape
was most impressive. It wondered about the power it had sensed.
It drew It’s power from pain and suffering, was it possible
that there was also power in peace and well-being? It could
certainly find no other source of strength for the spirit. But
the real question was, how could it use that to It’s advantage?~
Aragorn
stirred in his sleep. Something had woken him, but he wasn’t
sure what. Sitting up, he gently removed Arwen’s arms
from around his waist and swung his legs over the side of the
bed. He went pale at the sight that greeted him; Glorfindel
sprawled out on the floor by the bed, unconscious. “Glorfindel!”
he cried and moved to kneel by the fallen Elf-Lord. He shook
him, trying to wake him, but to no avail.
“Estel?” Arwen called from the bed. “What
is it, what has happened?”
“Glorfindel!” He said. “He seems to have collapsed
and I can’t wake him! I must get father!” Carefully,
he lifted the fallen elf and placed him on the bed. “I’ll
be right back.” He said softly to his wife. Arwen nodded
and moved her hand until it rested on Glorfindel’s arm.
“Don’t worry my love. We’ll be here.”
Aragorn smiled softly, even though she couldn’t see it
and leaned over to place a gentle kiss on her lips before rushing
out of the room.
Lord
Elrond had been walking back to his rooms when he heard the
sound of running behind him. Recognising his son’s footsteps
he turned with a smile on his lips.
“It is hardly dignified for a King to run Estel!”
He teased. Aragorn shook his head, regaining his breath from
the mad dash. Seeing the look on his son’s face, Elrond’s
smile faded. He reached out and gripped his son’s shoulders.
“Estel, what is it? What’s wrong?” He asked
urgently. Aragorn took a deep breath.
“Glorfindel – Ada, he collapsed.” All the
colour drained from Elrond’s face.
“Collapsed?” He repeated. “When? What happened?”
Fear began to grow in him, along with the nagging feeling that
this was not an isolated incident. Too much had happened in
too short a time, it had to be the work of a single malevolent
force.
“I don’t know exactly when.” Aragorn said.
“I fell asleep and when I woke he was laying on the floor
by the bed. I tried to wake him, but I could not. Please Ada,
you must come!” Elrond nodded and the King and the Elven-Lord
raced towards the royal chambers.
They
entered to room to be greeted with a terrifying vision. Arwen
knelt on the bed, trying to hold down the unconscious Glorfindel
who was thrashing wildly and crying out in pain.
“Arwen!” Aragorn cried out and ran to his wife’s
side. He gently pulled her away and took her place in trying
to restrain Glorfindel. Elrond moved to his friend’s side.
“Estel, try to calm him as best you can. I need to fetch
supplies from the healers.” Aragorn nodded.
“Go quickly Ada. I fear for him.” He said softly.
“As do I Estel.” Elrond replied as he exited the
room.
In
the healer’s rooms, Elrond quickly helped himself to the
items he needed. His wordless actions went unquestioned; no
healer would dare challenge the father of their King. Gathering
everything in his arms, Elrond hurried back to the royal chambers
anxious to return to Glorfindel.
He could feel the despair welling within him. It was akin to
the helpless pain he’d first experienced when Gil-galad
had been killed and again when Celebrian had been tortured.
It was the same feeling that had overcome him upon receiving
news of Legolas' death when he faced coping with his own grief
as well as supporting his devastated sons. It was the same pain
he’d felt most recently when he’d learned of his
daughter’s torment. Yes, he knew this feeling well and
he hated it. He despised feeling helpless and alone.
What was worse was that through all those other events, from
Gil-galad to Arwen, Glorfindel had been there to help him through
it. In all those years the Balrog-slayer had never suffered
any thing other than minor injuries in battle. For him to fall
now, struck by an unseen, unknown enemy was almost inconceivable.
He quickened his pace as he headed back to his son’s rooms,
desperate not to lose anyone else.
Legolas
drifted, deep in thought, not going in any particular direction.
He was mildly surprised then, when he found himself outside
Gimli’s rooms.
Deciding that he might as well check on his old friend, he stepped
through the door. He still had not determined if the dark being
had retained any lasting effect on the dwarf. Entering the room,
he was immediately comforted by the scene that met his eyes.
Gimli sat on a low chair, his axe in his lap. He was running
a large sharpening stone repeatedly over the blade. A smile
tugged at the elf’s lips as he remembered all the times
they had done just this together, Gimli sitting sharpening and
polishing his axe while he did the same with his knives. Pride
in their weapons was one thing they had never argued over and
Legolas had nothing but fond memories of the many afternoons
spent this way. He glanced over to the table where his knives
lay, placed lovingly upon a cushion of red velvet. Legolas sighed
wistfully, how he’d love to wield them again, to feel
the smooth bone handles against his skin.
He
stood for a long while watching his friend carry out the familiar
routine. It was comforting somehow to know that some things
had not changed, that despite all the pain, there were still
some constants in the world, signs that life still went on.
Smiling softly he turned to leave, but stopped when Gimli rose.
Legolas frowned in confusion when Gimli placed his axe in its
stand but didn’t return the polishing cloth to the box.
His confusion turned to surprise when the dwarf picked up his
own knives and sighed. Looking closer, Legolas could see that
a slight tarnish had developed on the side of the blades that
had lain against the cushion. Gimli shook his head.
“Ai, forgive me Legolas.” He said out loud. “I
know you’d never allow your knives to get dirty.”
With that, he sat down with the knives on his lap and began
to polish them with as much diligence as he used on his own
axe. A feeling of warmth settled over him along with a deep
reassurance. Gimli had not been affected by his encounter with
the dark being. No one so affected could still hold true to
such a long parted friend.
With renewed confidence that this evil could be beaten, he swiftly
left the room. He had tarried too long; it was time to discuss
what he’d learned with Glorfindel.
“ADA!”
The desperate cry sent Elrond running down the halls. Almost
falling into the royal chambers he was met at once by his youngest
son whose eyes were wide with fear. From the bedroom came a
terrible wailing.
“Estel?” The single word held a thousand questions.
“It’s getting worse father.” He replied worriedly.
“We can barely hold him down and he’s in so much
pain.” Elrond nodded and strode into the bedchamber. He
tried not to show the terror he felt at seeing his proud and
noble friend so weak and helpless. He quickly mixed up a strong
tea to send the elf into a deep slumber. Hopefully that would
send him beyond the realm of dreams and stop the nightmares
he was obviously experiencing. “Hold him.” He instructed,
as he moved towards Glorfindel’s head. Aragorn gripped
the elf-lord’s arms and placed his knee in his stomach.
It would have been highly uncomfortable had Glorfindel been
awake, but it was the only way to hold him still enough to allow
Elrond to administer the tea. Cradling his friend’s head
in his free arm, Elrond raised the cup to Glorfindel’s
lips and forced the liquid down his throat. When it had all
been taken he sat on the bed and held the other elf tightly,
waiting for the potion to take effect.
He
was trying to run, but it was hopeless. It seemed to be everywhere
at once; there was simply no escape. His courage was gone; there
was only fear now. He couldn’t get away, had nowhere to
hide. All he could do was to try to push the terrifying darkness
away. The evil laugh rang in his ears like a death knoll.
“Give up.” It sneered. “You can’t escape.”
“No!” He cried. “I won’t let you have
me! Get away!” He tried to pull within himself, to flee
the terror, but to no avail. Laughing still, the darkness reached
out and within him.
“No!” He tried desperately to gather his strength,
but as he did so a feeling of incredible weakness washed over
him. The little energy he had was drained away, leaving him
helpless. The dark laughter echoed in his ears as it drew closer.
“No.”
“What’s
happening?!” Aragorn held tightly to Glorfindel who had
suddenly started gasping for breath.
“He’s having a seizure!” Elrond cried. He
didn’t understand, the tea should not have affected him
this way. He grabbed a handful of herbs and began hurriedly
mixing them into a paste. They needed to calm him and quickly.
The mixture done, Elrond moved to the bed and was about to administer
the medicine when the seizure stopped and Glorfindel went limp
in Aragorn’s arms.
“Glorfindel?” Aragorn shook the elf desperately.
Elrond shoved the bowl aside and ran his hands over his friend’s
neck. His face paled as he checked his wrists.
“Sweet Eru, no.” He whispered, his voice breaking.
His worst fears were confirmed; Glorfindel wasn’t breathing.
END
CHAPTER 9
*Runs
away before previous threats to throw her over her own evil
cliffie are
carried out*
