Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Nothing Gold Can Stay	By : TAFKAB Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 5309 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, The Silmarillion, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Legolas set out northward, keeping the dwarf before him and trying to look in every direction at once. He had brought his best elves upon this patrol. They should not have been taken so easily.

His eyes returned to his companion again and again as Gimli picked his way through the forest litter, responding quickly to the light touches of Legolas’s hand that directed him where to turn whenever the way was not clear. They had barely been upon the road for an hour, but already their presence had been marked.

Legolas raised his bow and shot a spider without slowing. “We are followed,” he muttered. “We will have to stand and fight. I hope it is no worse than spiders that have found our trail.”

Gimli saved his breath for running. In truth, he ran much more steadily and faster than Legolas had expected.

“There is a fortification nearby: a ravine with worked stone on the inner side. The guard tower it once circled has collapsed, but there are tunnels below, and alcoves where we may shelter and hold off our foes.” Legolas leaped over a log, and the dwarf scrambled under it without breaking stride. “We should reach it before dark.” He did not say more; it would not do to frighten the dwarf. The presence he had sensed must be one of the nine. He could think of nothing else that might have taken his companions so swiftly. If it pursued, their peril would grow far worse after nightfall, especially for the dwarf, who would likely fall under the wraith’s fear-spell.

They scrambled into the ravine as the last of daylight faded, splashing through icy flowing water that reached to Gimli’s knees. The dwarf had begun to falter in his stride, and Legolas suspected his boots had failed. He came on stubbornly though, making no complaint.

“Here is a covert,” Legolas pushed aside a shield of briars, peering inside. There were no spiders within, but that was all that might be said for it. He was nearly out of arrows from shooting the insects that pursued them. He bent his head and ducked inside, drawing the dwarf after him.

They could kindle fire. The light and smoke would draw spiders, but it might deter the wraith, if it pursued.

Gimli leaned against the wall, gasping for breath, and Legolas lifted one of the dwarf’s feet to inspect it.

As he had feared, the boot was in shreds, and the other was no better. Gimli’s feet were cut and bloody.

Legolas gritted his teeth. “You cannot go on like this.”

“I told you these clothes would not last the week!” The dwarf rallied bravely. “But I can go on, and I will.”

“Can you fit your feet inside my boots? I run far more lightly than you.” Legolas drew off his footwear. He cleaned Gimli’s bleeding sole as best he could, then tried the boot. It would not go on.

Legolas replaced his boot on his own foot, then drew off his cloak and cut it into strips with his knife, binding them about the dwarf’s feet.

“I will repay this kindness.” The dwarf alerted suddenly, staring out into the night. “I can hear spiders chittering. They draw near, Legolas. They will find us shortly.”

“They may be the least of our worries.” Legolas glanced about, but there was no dry wood to kindle. He glanced up to the low ceiling, where tree roots had pierced the brickwork, writhing and tangling. The tunnel drew air, and it rushed past them with a hollow moan.

“If we pull down the capstone, the archway will fall and block the path behind us.” Gimli faced up the tunnel, sniffing at the air. “This tunnel opens elsewhere. We can follow it and make our escape.”

Legolas followed the dwarf’s gaze to the capstone, which had loosened and heaved as the roots pushed it out of true.

“Stand back,” Gimli grunted, and heaved his club aloft. Before Legolas could demur he leaped, striking the unstable stone. Earth sifted down, and he swore, then struck again.

This time the thing moved. It bound on a root, but the ceiling began to groan. Gimli backed away in haste just as the root tore loose and the roof fell, bringing a cascade of loose earth, stones, and masonry with it.

Dust choked the air, seeming not to trouble the dwarf. “That will thwart the spiders.” Gimli looked at Legolas steadily, apparently able to see well enough in the dark. “We should go.”

“Yes.” Legolas followed him along the corridor, which soon began to slope downward at an alarming tilt.

When the cave-in was well behind them, Gimli gave him a shrewd glance. “Tell me true, elf. Now that we are free of the least of our worries, what, then, is the most of them?”

“I believe my people were taken by a wraith, a servant to the Necromancer and a great captain among his soldiers.” Legolas confessed, reluctant. “I can think of no other creature that might have taken them so easily. It may grow more powerful by night, weaving a net of fear to entrap the unwary. It is the dead shade of a king of men.”

“A ghost cannot hurt us, surely.” Gimli tried to hearten himself, but his half-hearted jest fell flat as they remembered their missing companions.

“This one can wield a sword. A scratch from its blade would soon prove worse than fatal, making the victim a wraith as well. It weaves a net of paralyzing fear. We may inconvenience it with fire, or….” Legolas shrugged. “Perhaps it will not cross the water.”

"Perhaps." Gimli did not sound convinced. "We may hope that it is not among our pursuers. Look,” he pointed ahead. “The tunnel turns upward soon, and there are forks ahead. We must decide which one to take.”

“We should pause here to rest. I will stand watch.”

They settled on an alcove near the forks. Legolas sat still, alert for any sound or sense, while Gimli curled himself up inside his cloak and lay shivering. Even if the tunnel were dry, Legolas had no mind to risk a fire.

He took up the dwarf’s club and used his knife to smooth the worst of the splinters and bark from the narrow end, fashioning the best hand-grip he could. Then he whetted his knife sharp again, pausing every few moments to listen.

Strain his ears though he might, the elf could detect no sign of pursuit. Maybe he had been wrong about the wraith, or maybe it had been satisfied with its catch and had decided to let the stragglers go. That would be luck beyond hope.

After a time the dwarf began to snore, but Legolas remained uneasy. The very stones around him whispered their worry. Even Gimli seemed to sense it, scowling in his sleep and shifting restlessly.

Legolas let the dwarf rest as long as he could, but when the sounds of stealthy motion reached him, he set his hand over Gimli’s mouth.

“Orcs are coming,” he breathed.

Gimli wrapped his fist around his club and sat up, tilting his head to listen. “They come down the left fork,” he murmured. “We should hide in the right fork and hope they do not go that way. We may be lucky enough to steal around them and continue to the surface without doing battle.” He sounded almost reluctant, but Legolas agreed. Now was not the time for confrontation, not with both of them all but unarmed, still so many days’ walk from the palace.

They stole away from the main hall and waited as the soft clatter came nearer. Soon they could hear whispers in the black speech, the orcs’ foul voices filled with hate. The orcs passed into the main tunnel, but did not turn aside to explore others, moving toward the collapse in a steady stream.

“They are stealthy as an avalanche,” Gimli muttered, wrapping his fist tightly about his club.

“They think they have us trapped.”

When the last orcs had passed, Legolas set his hand on Gimli’s shoulder and urged him out. He drew his bow and strung it. Only four arrows remained in his quiver. He nocked one, ready to draw and shoot, as they padded silently up the tunnel from which the orcs had come.

They might have escaped without ever being discovered, had the tunnel been but a little larger.

“Hst.” The dwarf stopped Legolas before he could step out, his words barely loud enough for even the elf’s sharp ears. “I smell troll.”

It stood hidden in the shadow of the hill, too large to enter the small covert, hulking over the mouth of the tunnel with its club raised.

Legolas drew his bow, sighting against the blackness. Ill-aimed arrows would bounce off a troll’s hide, and he did not have enough to waste. He waited, letting his body settle, looking for some sign to guide his aim. He found it in the flutter of breath through broad nostrils.

He loosed his arrow, which sang through the air straight and true, finding the troll’s eye. It bellowed and dropped its club, clapping its massive hand over its wounded face.

“That has wakened the whole forest!” Gimli darted forward past the troll's trunk-thick legs and Legolas stayed at his heels.

The troll recovered, groping for its club, and lumbered after them with a creaking bellow. Its long legs ate the ground steadily, and behind it Legolas could hear the shouting of goblins hurrying to its aid.

Ignoring the rough ground underfoot, he caught the dwarf’s shoulder and ran blind, hoping to find the road. He was out of his reckoning from the time spent underground, but if they kept to the east, they should find their path.

The troll struck a tree in its blundering flight, and the thick oak toppled with a groan and rumble, nearly crushing them both amidst a rain of thrashing branches. Gimli swore. “There are more orcs ahead!”

They speeded their pace and burst into the loose troop of orcs, taking them by surprise. Gimli battered aside crude swords with his tough club, and Legolas turned, running backward, to loose another arrow. He missed the troll’s second eye in the darkness, his wasted arrow bouncing off its stony forehead.

Its club descended and Legolas leaped away, the ground shaking like the end of days as the huge club smashed down just where his feet had rested. He ran up the troll’s arm, quick as thinking, and nocked his last two arrows at once, firing them straight into the creature’s skull.

It roared, flailing, and he leaped away, but he had lost the dwarf.

The cave troll did not fall, still lashing about with its enormous club, not caring when it swiped away orcs, who sailed through the air screaming and crashed to the ground, crumpled in motionless heaps.

“Dwarf!” He looked about in haste.

The dwarf was there in the thick of the battle, half-buried beneath orcs. Legolas drew his knives and carved a swath through the melee, flashing steel a halo of death around him, freeing Gimli to rise. The troll’s lumbering steps shook the ground. Legolas dodged, sensing the club’s descent at the last moment, and caught an orc-sword between his knives, flinging it back before it would have cleaved the dwarf’s skull.

“That troll is too stupid to die!” Gimli swung his club, smashing an orc’s face. They leaped across its corpse, barely avoiding one huge foot as the troll tried to stamp them into an oily smear upon the forest loam. Few orcs remained, most of them small mountain goblins. They retreated in fear before the dwarf’s club, gibbering.

Legolas laid his hand on Gimli’s arm. “If I do not return to you, find the road and do not leave it for any cause. Look for small stones of white quartz set into the mould at every fork or turning, and follow the path they mark."

An orc-arrow creased his arm, burning a path along the muscle, but Legolas ignored it, spinning and diving between the troll’s legs. He slashed at its hamstring with his knife, but the tough skin slowed his arm, and he could not sever the wiry sinew.

The troll spun, tracking him, and he darted around it, leading it in a lumbering circle until it dizzied. Then he stopped, and when it tried to swing again, he dodged the club and swarmed up its arm once more, leading with his knife. The thing's remaining eye, glittering and misshapen in its lumpy face, gleamed at him balefully. He plunged his blade with all his strength, and the eye went out, reeking black ichor spraying forth to coat his arm.

The troll screamed, thrashing and beating at its face, trying to crush him against its own skin. Legolas fell, spinning in midair and landing on his feet, but sudden dizziness made him stumble.

Behind him the troll tried to take a step forward, but teetered and fell, unable to judge its whereabouts. The impact shook Legolas to the ground, where he lay for a moment, stunned. A line of dark fire burned along his arm from the orc’s arrow.

A dwarven foot appeared on either side of Legolas. Gimli had not fled. He roared, swiping away goblins. He had found an orc-axe, and he battered the lesser goblins away with its blunt blade, hewing off limbs and crushing necks.

The last ranks of goblins broke in the face of his savagery, turning to flee back toward the tunnels. The forest fell still, silent but for the groaning of the troll. A rough, blunt hand came under Legolas’s good shoulder, hauling him up.

“We must not stay.” The dwarf pulled him forward. “Which way is the road, elf?”

Legolas pointed—his best guess—and hoped he was right.

“I am wounded,” he warned Gimli.

“You will throw off that scratch as if it is nothing,” Gimli assured him, but he could hear the dismay in the dwarf’s voice. “Surely there are healers among your people.”

If Legolas could travel so far. He could feel poison working in the wound, its foul influence burning through his arm. He had lost his bow, but it was useless to him without arrows, so he did not pause to look for it.

They climbed over a crumbling breastwork, once again finding themselves in the ravine with its sluggish stream. Gimli paused, bending to the ground. “We must go quickly,” Legolas muttered.

“Aye. But stop a moment.” The dwarf ripped a strip off his tunic and wet it. “Bend so I can reach you.” He washed the bleeding wound as best he could, clicking his tongue, then tore another strip and bound it. “When we stop to rest, I will chew a poultice for it.”

“Where will you find herbs?” Legolas passed his hand across his face.

“You gave them to me yourself,” the dwarf chuckled, the first time Legolas had ever heard such a thing from one of the dour folk of Durin.

A ululating war-cry split the air; the goblins rallied themselves for the hunt.

“Orcs,” Gimli spat. “Let’s go.” They hurried to lose themselves amidst the trees.

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Nothing Gold Can Stay