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Arcane Land	By : alpham31 Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 2529 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is not mine, and neither are its characters. I make no money with my writing. This story was written for the simple pleasure of it.

Chapter List
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Chapter 13: Deliverance

It was not yet midday, but it seemed to Rafno that it was dusk. There was no merry bird call, warble or chirp, only the hum of locust and cricket, the occasional howl of a wolf or the skittering and shrieking of the black squirrels. The very trees were nothing but dry husks, no leaves or shoots to tell of, their barks oozing a sap so black it resembled molasses. It was almost as if they bled, he thought – for the land had deteriorated dramatically over those two days of enforced silence, and it seemed to Rafno that they had stepped into the realm of Morgoth himself.

It stank here, layer after layer of wood and leaves, rotting in the rancid, filthy water that soaked them, the putrid corpses of animals half eaten, left to the scavengers. Yet it was precisely this that would tell these bold warriors of the stage of decay and the nature of the wounds that had been inflicted, information that would help them to plan and execute their next move. They tracked a group of around thirty, at least five of which were Uruks, just as the villagers had guessed. They were three or four hours behind them and if both parties continued to move at their current pace, they would catch them during the dark hours, hence engagement would have to wait until the morning.

They had left their horses at the village two days ago, it would not be practical to bring them here, however well-trained they were. Here, stealth would become an art, in a place where only the strongest of minds would endure the press of darkness, as Rafno and Glammo were about to find out.

Lindo stayed close to Glammo, as Hwindo kept Rafno by his side, while Ram en’ and Dima worked with the other two recruits. They still remembered how difficult it had been for them on their first expedition into the Mirkwood, an experience they would never forget, one that had made them all question their calling; they were still here, in The Company, albeit they had lost half their numbers since then, and still, the love they held for the forest and the people they served was stronger than anything they had suffered during those long years of service.

They walked in single file, now relieved of their packs, which they had left at the last usable flet just this morning, taking with them only food and water they knew the captives would need, if indeed, they were still alive.

As The Company inspected the terrain in silence, Nanern let out a crow’s caw, drawing his companion’s attention to the corpse of an adult elf. It had not been immediately clear that this was a body. A simple, filthy grey rag shrouded their eyes and hearts from the horror which lay beneath, yet Legolas needed to look, for the body would speak to him, would tell him how he had died, valuable information that could save the lives of his elves and so he lifted the cloth and settled his trained eyes upon the ruin below, Rafno craning his neck over the commander’s shoulder.

They had not partaken of his flesh, which meant that they had not been hungry – the others at least, may be alive then. This elf, however, had been tortured most brutally, his body a mass of mangled flesh and bone. Turning to Rafno with an inquisitive glance and receiving a nod in return, he finally covered the corpse, but not before cutting a lock of his hair and stuffing it into one of his pockets.

And their silent march continued, Glammo and Rafno emulating the step and gait of the others, for their stealth was extra-ordinary, and Rafno thought he had never seen the likes of it.

They were drawing closer, for the stench of rotting vegetation now mixed with the nauseating odour of pungent urine, faecies and other, unnamable substances, the mixture was undoubtedly orcish – they were nearer than they had originally thought, yet still, they would spend the night in discomfort and utter silence, a challenge that had been trying for the Noldor, for they could neither move nor speak, and so they simply huddled together, training their minds to ignore the acrid stench, relax their muscles and sleep, for come morning, they would engage.

Yet sleep eluded the son of Elrond, as he sat with his back against that of Hwindo. He set to thinking of how utterly bleak and depressing this place was – ‘how could they stand it?’ he wondered – these Avari villagers who had been here for so long, under the influence of the Dark Tower. This was no life, this was a living hell; it was dark, foggy, humid, here the sun did not shine, there were only varying degrees of visibility. Everything was grey – dark grey, light grey, and every shade in between, but always grey. The trees were all but dead - how did the villagers feed themselves? For surely they would have to travel for days to find game, not to mention vegetables, herbs and other comestibles.

He wondered then if the trees spoke to Hwindo, for they seemed dead to his eyes. What did Legolas hear, if anything? Did they communicate with him? Did they cry? Scream their agony? How could he stand it? For he was Lord of the Forests, surely he could feel their suffering…

Hwindo could feel the warm back of his friend against his own. He was awake yes, and somewhat tense, he could tell, yet Legolas would not criticize him for that, for this was his first experience in the Mirkwood, these southern regions where no one else wished to venture, save The Company and the villagers that stubbornly refused to leave. He was used to it, which was not the same as being immune to its effects – it simply meant that it surprised him no more. However, there was one thing that only Legolas suffered, for no one else had the ability to communicate with the trees, and although most of them would not speak, he did feel their emotions. It provoked in him a kind of anxiety that he was hard-pressed to describe - a feeling in his gut that told him that something terrible was going to happen, and that he would be powerless to stop it.

……………………………………………………………………………………………….

They waited as Legolas closed his eyes, tilting his head back and listening. His senses were extraordinarily sharp, and he knew their enemy was off-guard, confident in that they were well into their own territory, that no patrol would be fool enough to find them here.

He had deployed his best archers ahead and to either side of their target, no orders were necessary – they knew the tactics their commander would use. They had silently climbed the rotting trees, sharing the branches with the large furry bats that hung upside down from the hooks of their leathery cloaks, silent sentinels that moved not in their presence.

A series of short, sharp hand signals and the ground warriors unsheathed their swords silently and moved forward, pushing their advantage until the thwack of Greenwood arrows took down the first unwitting orcs guarding the two captives.

The second volley had taken a good number down, leaving the captives unguarded as Ram en’ and Pengon moved in, cut their bonds and carried them away from the front line. The elves engaged then with a mighty clang of metal as they cut down their opponents one after the other, the archers thudding to the ground as The Company now moved forward in its entirety, hacking and swirling, slicing their black, leathery throats.

Rafno had killed many orcs, but this was his first Uruk and the difference was, indeed, great. He had taken several wounds, for it was strong, meeting his attacks and counter-attacking – it was intelligent, however not in vain had Rafno trained so hard and now, it all came to the fore as he swirled low, back-flipped, then sliced high, anticipating its movements and deftly slitting its jugular vein in a move that stunned him, even though he himself had executed it.

Glammo too, was battling his first Uruk. The beast was powerful, and every stroke of its blade sent violent reverberations through his entire body - if he was not careful, he would tire too much before he could bring this one down, and so he whirled in a full circle, swiping his blades low, just as Lindo had taught him, slicing through the stunned beast’s ankles and making it roar in pain, a moment Glammohtar took to stuff his sword into the gaping jowls, receiving a satisfying gurgle before pushing it to the ground with his foot and thus releasing his sword.

A few scant minutes later and it was over, and Hwindo ordered their immediate retreat from the area- they would march hard and fast, as far north as they could with their kin, until night fell and they would be forced to stop once more, for there was no telling if any orcs had managed to escape – running off to bring reinforcements, and stealth was not an option with one civilian and a child – the entire Company realized the urgency with which they would need to move, and so, wounds forgotten, they hoisted the civilians upon their backs and began a brisk jog away from the rotten battle ground. Hwindo, however, found the time to catch Rafno’s attention, smiling and nodding at him, for his friend had carried out that move they had practiced upon the training fields, and it had yielded the best of results. Lindo for his part, turned his dreamy eyes on his Noldorin lover, smiling widely as he simply said:

“You were magnificent!”

Now Glammo had rarely received such praise for his efforts as a warrior, undoubtedly because he had not earned it, yet that one simple sentence meant so much to him. It was true, he had fought well, better than he ever had, and although the darkness swirled about him, his spirit lifted and he beamed, first at the floor, and then at his lover.

……………………………………………………………………………………………….

Many hours later, they had already passed that first corpse they had encountered, and the terrain had improved somewhat, yet they could not relax here. Dima signaled that they would continue a while longer, even in darkness, for the danger was still too great.

Glammo observed Ram en’ and Pengon, who carried the villagers towards the centre of the group for greater protection. The adult was wounded, and stared into the distance as one lost, seemingly unaware of his surroundings. The child, however, slept with her mouth agape and her eyes closed, the angelic head resting upon the shoulder blades of her savior.

On their second night of flight, the child emerged from her stupor with a keening wail, for she remembered her father, how he had shielded her, and then the monsters had hit him, beat him, his legs and arms had bent and creaked, and her father had cried as his daughter watched in horrified confusion. How could they do something so vile to her father? He was goodly and kind, everybody loved him – why then, did they treat him so? She did not understand the reasons, but she did understand the suffering and now, she remembered it all and the tears flooded her eyes as she wailed once more. Rafno embraced her urgently from behind then, placing his hand over her quivering mouth lest she attract the enemy.

It was Hwindo who moved to sit before her, placing a finger to his own lips in a childish gesture which achieved its goal as she grew silent, her huge, round, tear-filled eyes looked to him for guidance, for she was lost without her father. Legolas kissed her forehead then, before moving back and smiling beautifully at her as she lay in the healing arms of Rafno, who desperately tried to keep his own tears at bay, for he too had lost a parent, just as Hwindo himself had.

“What is your name? whispered Hwindo.

“Tui,”

“’Tis beautiful. Will you come with us to your mother, little swallow?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied, her face filling with the light of hope.

“Then you must whisper, like me, alright?”

“Yes,” she said again.

Hwindo nodded to Rafno, who stood, maneuvering Tui onto his shoulders, as the rest of The Company surrounded them protectively before resuming their desperate flight. Nanern also moved into the centre, accompanying the adult, his strong arm wrapped strategically around his unsteady frame.

Beria followed his comrades through the ruined terrain, his heart unbearably heavy and his mind struggling to reason the things he had seen. This was not what he had imagined just one week ago when they had set out from the Greenwood fortress, in his case for the first time. He had not truly understood his tutors’ words during those days of training – for they had told him, and the words had stuck in his mind, ‘Beria, guard your heart, tuck it away until you return, for there, where you are bound, it could very well cost you your life.’

……………………………………………………………..

Dawn, and Hwindo and his men emerged from the trees silently, Tui hoisted high upon the strong shoulders of Ram en’, one bedraggled forester at their side.

The villagers emerged then, just as silently, dropping from their flets and moving towards the group of filthy warriors. Their eyes scanned them frantically, seeking those that had been taken. It was Tui’s mother who broke the silence when she spotted her daughter. Ram en’ set her on the ground as she ran into her mother’s open arms and the swallow finally sang out her grief in the strong embrace of her protector. Her mother’s eyes moved up to the shadow that stood over her now, and she knew. No words were necessary, for Hwindo had already told her with his eyes as he extended his hand towards her, a lock of chestnut coloured hair in his hands, hair she knew so well, for she had worshipped it for many, many centuries, and so she took the offering, closing her fist around it as she shut her eyes, forcing the tears to roll down her grief-stricken face.

Another female joined them then, sparing a glance and a nod at the commander, before melting into the desperate embrace of the two grieving elves.

As the warriors walked into the midst of the villagers, moving in the opposite direction towards the stream, they were touched reverently, thanked for their service, yet no one spoke, for now was a time for silence.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

The stream was surprisingly clean given the area they were in, and the water was drinkable, one of the only reasons the Avari had stayed here, and so they divested themselves and made their way to the various rocks and boulders that sat inside the water, rinsing themselves of the blood and slime that was caked onto their skin, in their hair, their boots. They were all battered and bruised, but no one had suffered major injuries. Elladan, however, had a few cuts that would need attention, and so Hwindo took up his small pack, extracted the antiseptic salve and approached.

Without asking permission, he simply began to work. “You did well, Rafno, that move got you out of a difficult situation.”

“Thank you. The truth is I had no time to think on whether or not I could do it, it just flowed, and it worked.”

“That is as it should be,” he said, as Elladan hissed at the contact of cool salve on heated skin.

“Your first Uruk…” he prompted, distracting his friend from the pain.

“Yes, they are, indeed, different. More agile, of keener wit – and strong, very strong,” he said, grimacing at the memory.

“Yes. There, I have finished,” he murmured, as he smiled and strode away, back to his own boulder to wash out his filthy hair.

A gentle touch upon his shoulder brought Legolas face to face with a lovely female who carried a basket of soap. Legolas smiled joyously, for this was hard to come by, a luxury in these parts.

She nodded solemnly, before walking away, leaving Legolas to distribute the cakes amongst his now approaching warriors.

Elladan watched him for a moment, this gentle king who had seen to his wounds before taking his own comfort, who had ensured the well-being of others before his own. The truth was, that Elladan’s mind was in a turmoil, for it was not only the battle, but the whole feel of this mission, from the moment they had entered the village to the present, he had felt a depression creep over him. The life these villagers led, their dank, dying home, their melancholy, their stubborn reticence to move away, their hopeless battle against the onslaught of darkness as its minions slowly but surely picked them off. The suffering he had seen in Swallow’s lovely eyes – her utter confusion at the nature of evil. It made him want to weep, and then he wondered at these warriors, who had done this countless times, how much grief did they hold in their hearts? How did they deal with this, unexpected aspect of warfare in the Greenwood, nay, the Mirkwood, they had called it, for the battle was not only physical but psychological. How did one experience situations such as these and not be affected by them? To Elladan, the answer was clear, it was simply not possible.

………………………………………………………………………………

Glammo sat, somewhat dejectedly upon the rocky banks of the stream, his mind far away, his heart heavy with the thick veil of sadness that hung over this village, it weighed him down pushed down on his chest –

“May I?” asked Lindo softly, gesturing to a boulder beside him.

“Yes,” he answered automatically, not bothering to look at his friend as he sat and looked closely at the pensive warrior.

“What is it? The mission was not unsuccessful, for we retrieved two of the three captives, ‘tis a good balance, given the circumstances.”

“Perhaps, ‘tis simply that this village depresses me, its inhabitants, the surrounding woods, it is difficult to explain, I ….”

“You feel smothered, weighed down, a sense of anxiety has settled in your gut and it will not be moved, you wish to run, fast, away from here…”

Glammo was now looking at Lindo, his eyes wide, for his friend had described it perfectly.

“Yes, that is exactly it, Lindo.”

“It is the darkness, Glammo. You have not been here before – there is so much evil here, in the trees and its inhabitants, the beasts that lurk the woods, the very ground you walk upon, it seeps the evil that emanates from the Tower of Dark Magic, and the closer we traverse, the more severe it becomes. Some elves cannot bear it and panic, or weep, or simply run. ‘Tis one of the reasons why not all can be a part of The Company, for we must be of strong mind and will.

“Yes, it makes sense,” he murmured. “How can you stand it? How can you bear to come back time and again, knowing the suffering you will endure?”

“’Tis the nature of our service to our land, Glammo. This is why we are loved so well, because we, in turn, love – enough to do this, again and again, until victory or defeat free us.”

Glammo sat there, watching this warrior as he spoke softly, spying a hint of grief on his fair face as he explained, it had been well-veiled, but it was there. Yes, they were accustomed to it, but not immune, no – not immune.

……………………………………………………………………………..

The trees around the stream were now laden with breeches, jerkins and skirts, which had been rinsed and left to dry. The warriors had changed into their spare sets of clothing and had cleaned their boots and weapons.

Leaving their clothing to dry, they wandered back into the village, immediately spotting Lithaldoren who walked over to them, his face grim.

“My Lord, allow us to offer you a humble repast?”

“You honor us, brother, and it would be most welcome.”

He led them to the base of a tree, where cloths had been spread out, and a humble selection of bread, cold meat and nuts had been laid out. The Company sat cross-legged around the offering, waiting for the leader to give his blessing.

“Yavanna, Lady of the Earth, we give thanks for the fruits of the forest that sustain us, as we, in turn, sustain the forests, for so long as we may.”

They nodded solemnly, especially Legolas, who kept his eyes closed for a little longer, before opening the startling green eyes, his face a reflection of pure grief for a few seconds, before he schooled it and began to eat.

“Tell us, Lithaldoren, how have these last six months been?” asked Legolas as he chewed.

“Just a little harder than the last time you were here. We lost three during that time, taken without an attack, simply snatched from the fields, never to be seen again. This last attack was the first in six months.”

“Lithaldoren, you know what I would ask of you,” he said, his tone most serious, his voice low, yet clear.

“I know, my Lord, yet our Avarin heritage will not allow us to leave them to…..”

“They grieve for you!” interrupted the Forest Lord. He had almost shouted, and his eyes had filled with moisture.

They had all stopped eating, their heads bowed, for Legolas’ reaction had been most uncharacteristic, he had always been most understanding of these people, and although he had never agreed to them staying, neither had he criticized them for it.

“Brother, please understand me. The trees want you to leave, they implore me to make you see. They can no longer protect you, provide for you. They know that the time will come, and soon, when they will try to betray you, even. Do you not see? For there is nothing left to protect here.”

“While there is one green leaf to be had upon one tree, there will be something to protect!” he shouted now.

“Lithaldoren, this is their dying wish, the last time they will be able to communicate with you – do not ignore it, I implore you.”

The leader sighed audibly as he bowed his head, raking his hand through his loose hair. He looked back at Legolas then, who was still staring at him, that familiar green mist hanging about his eyes. Legolas frowned as he stared, willing the Avar to yield and take his people further north. Yet it was not in his blood, it was against his nature to abandon the trees, however sealed their fate might be, but did that give him the right to condemn his people?

“I will call upon the elders, my Lord. I will tell them your message and I will put to them your request. Perhaps the next time you come here we will be gone, who knows – “ he finished, smiling timidly at the elf before him, watching as the stern features slowly smoothed out and he, too, sighed.

“I can ask no more of you, and I hope with all my heart that you will be gone, six months hence.”

They finished their food in silence, until Legolas finally stood and bowed to the leader.

“We should leave.”

He extended his hand to touch Legolas’ chest. “I can only thank you and The Company once more for your selfless service, and I pray you will all return safe and sound to your homes and families. May Yavanna protect you all.”

Legolas smiled then. “She does, Lithaldoren, she does.”

As they walked towards the river to collect their belongings, Tui’s mother approached them. Her eyes were sad, she had cried for long hours, for she mourned the passing of her bonded mate, yet her daughter had anchored her to this world – thanks to her rescue she knew she could not allow herself to wallow in misery, and so she lifted her head now, looking at the commander squarely, before offering him a tentative smile.

“I have no words to thank you for bringing Swallow back to me, my Lord. Together, she and I will mourn the passing of my love - her father. I wish you joy, my Lord – always.”

Legolas smiled at this, humble forester, for the effort she made to express herself in the face of all-encompassing grief, was plain to see.

“Then care for her well, keep her safe, for she is beautiful. I only hope that your village will decide to move further north, sister, for sooner or later, you will be overrun, and I would not see any harm come to one so lovely as Tui.”

She had heard the words, yet could not speak her mind, for the elders would decide their fate, and she would accept it, to whatever end, for that was their way. And so she smiled, bowed, and left the warriors to make their final preparations for departure.

An hour later, they were leading their horses north-east, navigating towards Brethil, the second and last village they would visit, before riding back to the fortress.

Legolas moved astride with Elladan, glancing at him before turning his gaze back on the road.

“Tell me, Rafno. Tell me of your experience so far.”

The commander’s tone had been light yet controlled and Elladan understood that he was delving his psychological well-being.

“How to explain? … I will first tell you that my perception of the enemy, its danger, has changed radically. Before, I thought in terms of orcs, or wargs. Now, they seem secondary to me, for the nature of evil I have now seen more clearly… do you follow me?”

“Indeed, but go on…”

“Um… you see, I believe that His greatest weapon – is the pain He inflicts for others to witness – does that make sense to you?”

“More than you could ever know…”

“It weighs on the soul, whittles down your motivation, your energy, renders you – helpless, somehow, as a skirmish or battle would not. It is a powerful weapon, for whereas battle empowers the warrior, the suffering of the innocent sucks his energy, leaves him prone to error. Forgive me, for I babble…”

“You are most perceptive, Rafno. Most would put the feeling down to the dankness of the area, the mercurial foresters, their Spartan lives – you, however, have understood it perfectly. It is, indeed, a weapon. The Dark One created them to cause suffering not only of the flesh but of the spirit, he understood that this last quality would be the most dangerous of all, and he will use it for as long as he is allowed.”

Rafno was speechless, for to him, his own words had sounded strange, yet they had flowed from the bottom of his soul. To hear Hwindo second his own strange musings was a surprise, one he would need to ponder further.
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Arcane Land