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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
- 13
- 14
- 15
Chapter 14: Dark Embrace

The forest was healthier here, for the trunks were brown, and the branches were spotted with green leaves. It was not the vibrant, pulsing forest of further north, nor was it in any way comparable to the Evergreen Wood, still, here, the squirrels were brown and a smattering of birds sang their merry songs. Strange how only two-day’s ride to the south, the land could change so drastically, and hearts could suffer so greatly.

It was Legolas’ first patrol through the forest since his crowning, and the trees reached out, calling him over to them. And so, The Company observed with amusement, the strange spectacle of their beaming commander, meandering from one side of their trail to the other, reaching out with his hand to touch the barks of the trees they passed. There was a constant rustle of leaves and a light breeze that had nothing to do with the weather - as if they hailed their Lord, thought Glammo, just as Amanthor and Lindir had done with their music in Imladris.

The heavy burden of darkness had lifted almost completely, and the warriors now smiled cautiously, their brows no longer drawn together, their hands no longer gripping the reins of their steeds. They chatted quietly amongst themselves as their horses ambled through the forest. Idhreno and Nanern giggled quietly, while Pengon and Koron en’ were engrossed in some conversation or other. Ram en’ smiled to himself, obviously lost in his own pleasant memories and Lindo was, of course, abreast of Glammo’s steed, explaining something that had them both engrossed. Rafno, however, had not been able to shake the truth he had discovered back in Lithaldoren’s village. It made so much sense that those feelings were provoked, and not just a logical and natural reaction to the suffering of others, it was so simple, yet not at all obvious, if such a thing were possible.

It was only then, that Rafno truly understood the words his father had penned to him. He had asked his son to watch Legolas, claiming that his heart was burdened. Elladan had not seen it – still couldn’t, save for a few times, when, for a split second he had seen through the veil. This is what his father meant – for Elladan had said it himself, it simply was not possible to be immersed in the darkness, witness it first hand, paradoxically upon the angelic face of Tui, and not be affected by it – and Legolas had been doing this for over a thousand years.

“You are quiet.” It was Dima, who now looked at him expectantly.

“Yes, I wax philosophic today, Dima.”

“Are you alright?”

“Aye, Dima. I simply wonder at the villager’s plight, their sacrifice, for to stay in that place for so long must take a heavy toll on the soul – one that can be seen in their character, for they are quiet, sad, introspective…”

“Yes, it takes a toll,” he began, his voice quiet, for he did not want to spoil the warriors’ morale. “Although Lithaldoren promised to muster the elders, deliver to them our Commander’s message, I do not believe they will move – ‘tis certain suicide, Rafno, a simple question of time before we find them all gone, slaughtered.” He breathed deeply before simply nodding at Elladan, and catching up with Hwindo.

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They stopped on the banks of a lovely, shady river, dismounting and allowing their steeds to wander freely for a while. Each elf went his own way, some to relieve themselves, others to fill their water skins, and others to sit quietly and enjoy a bite of food.

Hwindo sat next to Rafno, both remaining silent for long moments, before Legolas spoke.

“You ponder on our conversation, on the nature of darkness, do you not?”

Rafno looked at him then, studying his face before answering.

“I seem to be most transparent, Hwindo, for Dima asked me the same question.”

“And what was your answer?” he asked kindly, a slight smile on his lips.

“The truth, and yet not all of it.” He stopped himself then, for he was not sure this was the time or place for such a transcendental conversation.

“Tell me only that you are hail and I will not press you. However, as your friend, I would have you unburden yourself. I know what it is to experience this for the first time – I have not forgotten wondering what was wrong with me, until I realized that my assumption was incorrect – it was not me, but the darkness, and my own reaction to it. It is like a beacon, not of light but its antithesis – cruelty that must be visible in order to render its crippling effects – the wearing down of one’s opponent, until they err – and lose. Do you follow me?”

Rafno watched Legolas as he spoke those final words, words that had synthesized so well the thoughts that had been swimming around in his mind with no set direction. And yet Hwindo had put those thoughts into words, ‘a beacon of darkness, planted purposefully with the intent of causing visible suffering and provoking error’. That was why Legolas never showed his feelings, because to do so would be to yield, for that was the very purpose of the Dark One.

“Rafno – I see that you have much to think on, and that is good. I will add only that one of the strongest ties that we, The Company, share, is that we all understand that which you, now, try to reason. This is why we are so comfortable together, perhaps why I am so comfortable with your father, with Glorfindel, for they too, understand the nature of darkness – Glorfindel was touched by it, killed by it.” Legolas turned his head away then, his own words surprising him as his mind visualized the bracelet he had found in his father’s treasure vaults.

Rafno smiled tenderly then, reaching out one hand and placing it over the side of Hwindo’s face, over the slight bruise that still remained from where he had clumsily sailed through the trees, breaking his fall with this lovely face.

“You spoke heart-felt words to me not long ago, on that night of celebration in the Greenwood. And now I say unto you that you have my loyalty as a warrior, yet more than this, you have my undying friendship, Legolas, for I have come to know you, and I would never lose your company. You love, unconditionally, and so deeply – your generosity humbles me,” he finished, his words slowly dying as his eyes held the green irises of he who sat beside him.

“Your words are bold, for a Peredhel, for your choice is yet before you – and yet you offer me your undying friendship,” he smiled, watching as Rafno realized the strangeness of his words. However, he opted for silence, smiling ruefully as Legolas slapped him on the shoulders – bidding him come, for the time had come to mount once more, for one more day, and they would arrive at the village of Brethil.

However, no sooner had he risen than he came to an abrupt halt, standing stock still, his hands balling into fists.

“Hwindo? Asked Rafno, rising slowly, and calling the attention of the others as he did so.

There was no answer, yet Legolas’ breathing was now fast, and harsh. Elladan was startled half out of his wits as his friend pivoted to face him, his face alight with urgency, his eyes misted.

“Collect the camp, saddle up, we ride hard, Brethil is under siege!”

Dima rallied the elves who were atop their prancing horses in the blink of an eye, organizing their belongings into their panniers even as the ride began, hair swirling in the opposite direction of their capes, eyes set on the path ahead. Their ride that would last until late afternoon, when Legolas held up his arm, finally calling a halt for a short rest and briefing.

“Come close,” ordered the commander. “There are many orcs and Uruks in this area, and more approach. It is a large party with the purpose of gleaning information no doubt. If battle ensues, you must be aware of a second group, for they do not travel together. Have a care and close your minds, warriors, and your hearts, for they have no place here - you know what to do.”

What ensued was hours of stealth, even atop their horses. No talking, only the noise of their horse’s hooves upon the wood-strewn floor and the creak of their leather clothing, quivers and holsters; yet no sooner had they arrived at their destination, Legolas dismounted and stood tall, relaxing his own hands as he stepped out into the clearing before them, where the village should have been.

No sooner had he himself emerged from the tree line, Rafno knew they had been too late. The corpses of elves and a smattering of orcs littered the ground, their twisted bodies soaking the muddy ground, their blood turning it to copper. Pushing his feelings to the back of his mind, he joined the others as they bent down to inspect the bodies, noting the wounds that had been sustained, the temperature of the bodies. He also inspected the orcs the villagers had managed to bring down, their clothing, state of health – these had not been hungry, for they were well-fed – had come from the tower, no doubt.

After ascertaining that there were no survivors at all, Rafno bowed his head, feeling that now, all too familiar press of darkness descend upon him once more. There were males, females, children, all of them civilians, all of them cruelly slaughtered. They had not been tortured however, and it seemed to him, that the orcs had been looking for something other than sustenance or entertainment – it had been plain and simple execution.

His heart lurched, for children were so rare in Imladris, and yet here so abundant. Legolas had already explained the reasons, and yet to see them dead, their small bodies cut open - what terror would they have felt, before their conscious minds fled the body that sustained them? What anguish had they suffered when their mothers and fathers had been slain before their innocent eyes?

The Company deposited the elven bodies carefully upon a makeshift pyre they had erected, finally setting it alight as they said silent words of farewell; there could be no singing here, for they were not safe. When it was over, Hwindo unsheathed Yaavan and walked towards the dead orcs, slicing their heads from their torsos, as Ram en’ and Dima impaled them, hoisting them aloft in a macabre line which faced south…

After a short briefing, they moved forward on foot. The battle was recent and they were less than a day away from the band. They had found their tracks heading north-west, towards Barabor’s detachment, and so Hwindo had deployed Nanern and one of the two recruits on an alternative route, in the hopes of warning the western detachment of the danger that approached, and then bring them towards the south-east, where hopefully, they would meet, for the number of orcs involved in this incursion was large, and to Hwindo, it was clear that The Company would need help before the day was done.

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It was now mid-afternoon, and Hwindo laid his hand on every tree they passed. They mostly answered him, saying only that there were, indeed, orcs in the area, that they had passed by not long ago. However, trees had a very different concept of time, and the Forest Lord knew he could not take that literally.

A snapping twig froze the entire detachment, halting their movement midstride, until they realized it had been Glammo, who held up his hand in silent apology. Lindo turned his head to his lover, smiling encouragingly, for Glammo’s face was set in a fierce scowl of self-admonishment. ‘Damned boots,’ he cursed to himself.

An urgent hand-signal from Dima had them scurrying up the nearest tree. Rafno’s foot slipped and would have crashed to the ground, had it not been for Koron en’, who held him firmly under the arm, hoisting him up until the flailing warrior found his feet. He dared not blow out his breath, but he did turn to nod humbly at his savior.

Scant seconds later, a small group of orcs trampled through the copse in single file, obviously bound for some mission, for they did not stop to inspect the ground. ‘Good’, thought Hwindo, for it meant that their presence had still not been detected. The downside, however, was that should The Company engage, this group may return, trapping them in the middle of both companies…

Afternoon turned to dusk, and now, the sounds of grunts, screeches and barks could be heard clearly. There was an orc encampment ahead of them, and even if they had not heard it, they had certainly smelt it from afar, something that told them all that this group was indeed large.

More hand signals from Hwindo, and Pengon disappeared through the foliage, under the waning light that now waxed dark blue. In less than five minutes, he had arrived at the tree line beyond which, was a glade, and the orcs. He counted sixty, yet there were three tents around the perimeter, which could well harbor two or three more each, plus those that would be in the bushes. His best guess was seventy.

Just as he stood to leave, he spotted a large, bulky figure emerging from one of the tents. Its form was that of a Uruk, yet something compelled Pengon to watch closely, for there was something different about this one. It finally came to him in a blast of worried surprise. Its face was not black and leathery, and its hair was not dark, but blonde, its skin pale. He was too far away to see any more details, but this – abomination – was new to him.

He needed to get back, and fast, for the information he bore was not good.

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Pengon had finished his silent report to a now fiercely scowling Hwindo, for they could not engage, the odds made it impossible. He signaled their plan to skirt around the camp, back tracking a little first, before swinging round to the north-west. However, as they turned to move away, they heard the first orcs approaching them from behind. Their eyes widened, for the other, smaller group had returned. Dima signaled due west, thinking perhaps they would be lucky and not run into them, yet that was not to be, as the first screeches alerted the elves that they had, indeed, been discovered.

The only way out of this, desperate situation, was to press the oncoming group back and make a dash for it, back the way they had come, but it was too late, as a hail of chaotic arrows were propelled towards them, forcing them backwards. However, the elves had moved in two different directions, one west, the other east, a standard tactic for situations such as these, it meant the possibility of at least some of them escaping, in search of help.

Hwindo found himself together with Rafno, Idhreno and one of the new recruits, Beriadan - only four – it was not enough, they would not make it, but the other group may, if he could distract them.

And so Hwindo yelled his most chilling of battle cries as he jumped and twirled, slashing and stabbing at the orcs nearest to him, taking them down in the beat of an eye and a swish of cloth and leather, his comrades emulating the display of elven swordsmanship - and it worked, for that short moment in which the beasts stood in surprised stupor, had allowed Dima’s group to escape the immediate area, and then run like the wind, a number of the orcs giving them only a half-hearted chase, for they already had four, warriors no less – their leader would be impressed - there may be information to be gleaned here at last.

Rallying his group, Dima pushed them to their limits, for now, their brothers depended on them – every second they lost could mean torment and death for four members of The Company. They had to find Barabor, and fast, and as they sprinted away in single file, they did so to the sounds of shouting and cheering, surely marking the moment their brothers were, inevitable, brought down.

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“Hwindo!” he hissed, softly enough to avoid drawing the attention of the orcs. Yet he received no answer, nothing. Legolas lay on his side, his arms bound tightly, a thick black shaft protruding from his shoulder. On closer inspection, Rafno realized the shaft had not penetrated too deeply and it did not seem to be in any life-threatening position. It had been the only way to bring him down, for he had fought as one possessed - they all had, taking down a good number of orcs before Hwindo was shot, and the others beaten to the floor. They had then been manhandled to where they now sat, tied securely around the trunk of a tree. Hwindo, however, had been dragged, for they had clobbered him twice over the head for good measure as they approached him, for even with an arrow in his shoulder, he had terrified them. Idhreno sat quietly, watching Rafno as he assessed his commander’s injury as best he could without the use of his hands. He then turned his attention to Beria, who also sat quietly, yet his eyes moved frantically from left to right. Idhreno recognized the signs of near panic, and so he kicked the warrior’s boots, garnering his attention and nodding softly to him, willing him to calm himself. The warrior stilled, then nodded slowly, breathing deeply and willing his racing heart to calm itself. Yes he had been trained to endure in a situation such as this, but he never imagined it would happen to him on his first ride out!

“Rafno…,” hissed Idhreno, as quietly as he could. “Is it bad? Can you…” he was abruptly silenced, as the orc sitting watch over them threw a stone at him, which the warrior narrowly avoided. The orc simply growled, then showed them its rotten teeth, for even though they were indeed putrid, they were big enough to bite your arm off, and give you a nasty infection in the process.
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Dima flew through the forest, closely followed by Glammo and Lindo, Ram en’, Pengon and Koron en’, their legs pumping madly, yet responding perfectly. It brought to Glammo’s mind those grueling weeks of cross-country running - how it was helping him now! he thought, as his mind wandered to his friend Rafno, now in the clutches of darkness. Destiny had dictated they pass this, most difficult of tests on their first ride out - captivity, and hopefully, rescue – yet he cringed to think on how long it would take them to find help and return, and what His minions would be capable of doing meanwhile…

They went unhindered until they could continue no more, collapsing onto the ground as they wheezed and coughed for long minutes, until Dima had gained enough breath in his lungs to speak.

“Drink and eat – we move again in five minutes.”

It was in four that they began their mad sprint through the forest once more. However, Pengon, who brought up the rear of the group, quite suddenly gave the call to horses. Puzzled, Dima turned his head without stopping, although slowing a little, lest he run headlong into a beech tree. And then he saw the reason the warrior had called, for in the distance was a white horse, its coat shining almost preternaturally as it galloped towards them, Hwindo’s steed. It was followed by the others, black, brown, chestnut, their manes whipping behind them, nostrils flaring, until they began to slow, finally stopping before the befuddled, panting warriors. There was silence for a moment, save for the neighing and whinnying of the noble creatures.

“How?” whispered Ram en’, his eyes misting, for surely this was some kind of magic. Their horses would have moved north instinctively, backtracking their own trail. It was Koron en’ who spoke then, for he thought he understood.

“Ram en’, we serve the Forest Lord, deep is his connection with the trees...,” he said no more, simply trailing off, for the rest was implicit, they had been summoned somehow, sent to their masters in their time of need.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

It was now fully dark, and the roaring fires began to cast their orange glow over the clearing, reflecting on the black eyes of the orcs, and the yellow of the Uruks, turning them a chilling blood red. They grunted and growled, yet were surprisingly calm. There was no shouting, no brawling, nothing, and Rafno wondered at that.

“Hwindo!” he hissed once more. This time, Rafno was alerted to an almost imperceptible move of the head. “Hwindo, wake up, but do not draw attention to yourself. Speak if you can but do not move.”

The words were processed slowly. He was being called, someone was whispering his name. He concentrated on the words, on the tone and register, the emotion behind them, and then it came back to him in a roar of horror. They had been separated and he had drawn the attention of the orcs to the smallest group, that the largest could escape, a move that was doomed to end badly for them, of course. The arrow that bit into his collarbone was superficial, yet it was uncomfortable enough to make him wince.

He had been told by – Rafno, yes, that he should not move, not to draw attention to himself. He felt his confined body, his wrists behind his back, tied at the elbows. ‘Would he be able to talk, should he try?’ He knew not, and so he tried his luck.

“Rafno – where,” he croaked.

“Hwindo, thank the Valar! Listen to me,” he began. “Tis you and I, Idhreno and Beria. There are around sixty here, one sits and guards us – we three are tied to a tree, yet you are, as yet, unbound save for your arms.

“There is a – foulness to the air, Rafno, I feel – chilled,” he gasped. “’Tis not the wound,” he grated out.

His words had infused Rafno with a feeling of dread, for he, as yet, could sense nothing, but he would not doubt Legolas’ senses, and so he looked back over his shoulder, nodding reassuringly at Idhreno and Beria - the commander was awake and lucid – almost.

They gave no forewarning as they quite suddenly sprang into action, a particularly large specimen appearing from one of the tents. It stood taller, its muscles stronger, sturdier than the average Uruk, and its hair – it was long, and twisted as was Legolas’ top layer; the comparison was outlandish, but the technique was most definitely the same. This was a Uruk Hai, yes, but it was blonde, its skin fair, although sallow and mottled. It strode towards the captives then, stopping before them, and Rafno saw its yellow eyes for the first time, the pupils vertical, like those of a cat. It was a daunting site, one he had never seen before, and he realized then that this was what Hwindo had sensed just moments before, the strange being that Pengon had reported.

As it stared, it grunted and barked, until a group of Uruk came to join it, and now, four beasts stood menacingly, their heavily booted legs set apart, hands on their scimitars, mouths set in a sneer that promised much suffering.

Behind the Uruk, there was a scurrying of booted feet, and a clanking of rusty metal, followed by shouts and screams of excitement as the orcs inched closer to their leaders, their beady eyes hoping for a glimpse of what torture would be inflicted on their enemies.

When the strange leader spoke, it chilled them all, for its voice was not at all what they had expected. It was deep and mellow, not gruff or grating.

“Well, now,” it said calmly, “Elven warriors from the Greenwood - and who is the leader, I wonder…?” it said, somewhat rhetorically, for it seemed to know that no one was going to answer him, and it rather seemed to Idhreno that the beast was enjoying the challenge.

The prisoners calmed themselves as best they could. Hwindo kept himself to the floor on his side, the arrow forcing him into an unnatural position, forcing him to adjust his posture. Beria watched him carefully, encouraged when he saw his commander’s face for the first time, for he stared at his enemy now with steely resolve and defiance, the blood marring one side of his face only serving to lend him an air of deadly ferocity.

The Uruk crouched before its prisoners then, looking into their eyes one by one, searching for the clues it had been trained to recognize. Hwindo knew what it was doing, however incredible it seemed for a Uruk to be using such an – advanced technique; it was sounding out who was who; he just prayed that Beria would stand the test, for of them all, he was the one whose heart was still tender, the one that least understood the nature of the game that was now being played.

Moving to stand before the recruit, it looked into the slightly glassy eyes, eyes that moved too quickly to the left. This one was nervous – a warrior, yet he was nervous, he hid something, yet what? Or better still, who?

The Uruk smiled triumphantly, showing its pearly white teeth, not rotten at all, yet huge and sharp. It lifted its chunky arm and backhanded him, knocking him into Idhreno beside him, who did his best to right his comrade.

Now before Idhreno, the warrior received a punch to the gut, forcing the air from his lungs most cruelly. And there it was again, observed Rafno this time, the beast would look to the sides each time he struck one of them – he realized then, just as Hwindo had, that it was looking for a reaction, it was intelligent, it seemed.

It now stood before Rafno, cocking its head slightly as it took in the starry grey eyes of the dark one. They were lovely, strange – ‘maybe this one then’, it thought, before punching him in the mouth and splitting his lip, cracking the warrior’s head into the bark behind him.

Now he was before the blonde one, the one that had fought like a demon, the one his orcs would not approach without rendering him senseless. His eyes were green, he noted, sparkling green, his hair fair, like his own. He was beautiful, it thought. Fisting the crude arrow in its claws, it yanked it out of the bone where it had lodged itself, garnering a strangled moan from Hwindo.

The beast saw the dark one frown slightly, before hiding it, and he saw the nervous warrior’s mouth open slightly – yes, this was the one he would use - he had already suspected that this was, indeed, the leader, for he had never seen an elf fight as he had. This one would give the best results, together with the dark one, for his eyes were different, and he had seen the desire to help his friend. Its evil would be more effective with them, for if his guess was right and they were the leaders, then the other two would suffer and give him the information he required - the nervous one, yes, he would give him the information he had been sent to retrieve…, he just had to play out the pantomime and wear him down.

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Arcane Land