Walking in Darkness 2 by Kink
They clashed as they fell into
the deep.
Darkness wavered with the simmering heat of the
mountain's core. Legolas could not breathe, fighting even as death
rushed swiftly to meet him on the jagged teeth of rock in the chasm
below.
Down they plunged through to the fiery heart,
until at last he and his foe both struck not rock but a steep sandy
slope. Legolas stumbled, the wrenching grasp of the creature suddenly
gone as he heard its howl of frustration. He quickly oriented himself
and came to a stop at the edge of a precipice, moments away from
plummeting down into what he could see was a roiling volcanic lake
below. He turned, determined not to let fear take him.
The beast had stayed itself as well. It stood
slowly and regarded him in its cruel red gaze. Great muscles heaved
with deadly promise as it held its ground, watching him.
Swiftly, he drew his daggers, trying to focus
his mind and shun its foul presence which seemed now stronger than
the fumes of the mountain. His lips moved faintly, uttering a prayer
for his companions so far above him.
Legolas held aloft his weapons.
Its glowing eyes flickered at the long knives.
It snorted in disgust.
fight. me.
The words slid through the thick air and lingered
like smoke. This is what had so plagued him, there upon that precipice.
Reaching past blood and bone to touch his mind; all of this endless
torment that was their journey. Despite the span of his years, a
Uruk-Hai had been merely legend to him, a chilling rumor of what
had befallen the Unwilling of his people, turned orc, then this,
this greater perversion. Old evil, older than middle earth or the
stars that lit its nights.
Legolas staggered and his hands began to shake.
Bereft of its weapon, his enemy swung out with
a mighty arm. Like a cat, he dodged, lashing up and into the body
of the Uruk-hai. IIt howled in rage, clamping its great fist down
onto Legolas's hand, but he held to the blade buried deep in its
slick
hide.
The touch brought an onslaught of pain, turning
his wrist and arm cold and numb. The sensation flooded into his
head filling up behind his eyes like a cloud enshrouding the sun.
He cried out, ripping his hand away as the other
knife plunged into Its chest. Its enormous mass shifted unsteadily
on the narrow precipice. He kicked swiftly forward, intent on driving
It over the ledge. With a guttural growl it struck out blindly catching
the light fabric of his cloak on its claws. Legolas stumbled down
over the edge into the lake below.
Their impact sent a hot sulfuric tide lapping
with a hiss onto the rocks. Foul water seared his eyes and burned
his lungs. He felt the crushing grasp of the Uruk-hai close around
his throat. It lifted him clear out of the burning lake and dragged
him towards the craggy shore. As though amused, the Uruk-hai released
him and he staggered slightly, gasping and choking. Legolas tore
at his eyes, wiping away the painful sting of the acidic water.
He blinked rapidly, his entire body shuddering and tense.
Great clouds of steam rose from cracks in the
ground, shrouding his enemy from sight. He knew without seeing that
it was moving fast around him, heard its grunting breaths, scented
its foul sweat. A flash of motion from behind reawakened his senses
white hot. He whirled, lashing out with his fists into the sea of
sulfuric mist. Back he fell, bruised from the effort and glaring
up with pure outrage in his watering eyes. The Uruk-hai was toying
with him. He heard its voice in his mind, steady and cold.
weak. nothing.
He sprang to his feet but the creature had a
speed to match his own. Its grip crushed his throat, holding him
as he fought. With all his boundless strength he struck at its torso,
tearing the flesh of his knuckles against the unyielding skin.
With astonishing speed, it slammed him hard and
back against the cavern wall. It growled deeply, its black lips
curling to reveal its fangs. The Elf's face was hard and unrelenting,
only his pale eyes betraying his fear.
The beast, now so close, let its mind pour freely
into his, allowing no barrier between them to mar its foul putrescence.
He gasped when he felt the first violent shudder pass through him,
his back arching sharply against the next as all his senses fell
prey to it.
Its broad snout was at his chest then at his
neck, the hot breath terrible on the bare skin of his throat, the
massive paw clasped over his mouth stifled his cries of revulsion.
smell. you
The Uruk-hai inhaled in a long shuddering breath,
its long tongue flashing out from behind its sharp teeth and licking
the pale flesh under his eyes. Time slowed, his sight wavering as
if seeing through the haze of a dream. Then before his eyes there
came a strange thing. The grotesque visage of the monster melted
away, leaving in its wake a wholly different being. A shining circlet
of stars adorned the fair brow. Smooth white flesh like his own,
ancient eyes bluer than the sea gazing at him with the wisdom of
the Eldar.
The Elf felt his strength drain like water eaten
by the ground. Who was this ethereal being before him? His quaking
hand came up in wonder to touch the fair skin but the blue eyes
sharpened to crimson and shifted madly, contorting back into the
crude mask of the Uruk-hai. This creature had been an elf once,
now tainted by Sauron? To be instilled with such evil and yet forced
to exist? Legolas felt himself overwhelmed with a grief so strong
he would have collapsed if the Uruk-hai was not holding him fast.
It saw the pity in his eyes and reflected back such rage that the
air itself crackled.
"Ah!-" Legolas felt the sharp stab
of his own dagger push hard and fast, sliding into the flesh of
his shoulder and past to grind into the stone at his back. The pain
flowed and met the agony that flourished in his mind. His slanted
eyes fluttered closed, his breath short and almost gone. The Elf's
body sagged, supported only by the long, cruel shard of the blade.
The voice of the Uruk-hai rang out victorious.
Aragorn descended far down into the cliff until
he could go no further. The rock face was riddled with tunnels and
caves revealed by the fires below. The dim glow of molten earth
lit his path, his hands on the rough hewn walls when the light became
too feeble to see by. The passages split and turned, divided once
more and yet again.
He did not know the way.
Aragorn knew only that he was traveling down.
He bent to the ground, intently searching for
sign of the Elf's footstep. It was no easy task for the light feet
of Elves barely touched the ground when pursued.
"Legolas, if he still stands, would not
leave so bright a mark upon this hard earth." He murmured to
himself.
And if he had not walked this path at all, he
shuddered to think what had befallen him at the hands of the Uruk-hai.
Time was pressing. He stopped in the gloom, his chest heaving. Only
the futile sound of his own labored breath met his ears.
It would be useless searching for Legolas in
this maze of caverns. With the wizard's aid he might have fared
better but the rest of the party was too far above to reach by shouting
alone. He could only pray they had found some haven far away from
this place. His thoughts grew dim for it would go ill indeed if
the Fellowship were broken here. Yet he sensed that Legolas, if
he could be found, was still living. Aragorn made hard his heart.
His breathing slowed and his head cleared. He closed his eyes as
one listening to something far in the distance.
It struck him without warning, like lightening
ripping the sky. Pain that made him stagger to his knees, one that
was not his own, but borne through another. It flashed again making
him cry aloud from the horror of it. He slumped against the crumbling
wall clutching his head.
The small part of him that shared his blood sang
through his veins like an ignited flame. He could feel the rapid
beating of an Elvish heart, and the corrupt power that rushed to
encircle and crush it. The warrior at once felt the draw of the
call, intended or no, and followed it through the darkness like
a beacon.
He stumbled forward suddenly more certain of
his way.
He would find him.
In places deep and secret dwelled the Uruk-hai.
These chambers in the earth were unseen as yet to any being save
their kind. When the Dwarves had in their ignorance dared venture
past these vaulted passages, they had met their doom. The rumbling
pleasure of the Uruk-hai reverberated as it prowled through the
legions, which bit and snapped like hungry beasts at its hard won
prize.
The Elf still motionless on its shoulder bled
freely down its arms, the once clear mind clouded and dim. It bore
him to its lair, the ground scattered with many bones--of dwarf,
of man, even of its own kind.
It let its burden drop down to the scalding ground.
The Uruk-hai growled and roared at two lesser orcs, bickering over
the right to slice one delicate ear off of its head for keeping.
They yielded to the powerful stare down of the Uruk-hai only after
cruelly cutting a long pale braid of hair for spoils.
Its thoughts wove in and out of his own, stealing
visions from the woodlands of his home, honing Its search and lingering
on his people. Seeing the majestic trees reaching under the soft
shine of the heavens invoked a wave of such horrible anger, it exploded
in the Elvish mind like a rotted gourd, forcing him to cry out in
agony.
The Uruk-hai curled a fist into the blood soaked
jerkin, the once ivory embroidery now dark. It pulled the anguished
face to Its own. Was there still defiance in the beautiful make
of his up turned eyes? Behind the torment, a desire to fight?
Indeed, the Elf glared back up into Its fierce
gaze, a line of blood running down the white skin of his chin from
his mouth. The fair eyes flickered and faltered but retained their
will.
The Uruk-hai would break it.
Aragorn's journey through the low caverns was
not silent. Liquid rock flowed behind these walls, as steady and
unyielding as the dwarf hammers that had once labored there. As
he descended lower he could hear the steady hiss and snarl of the
beasts that had come to dwell in its shadows. He had to change his
path many times to avoid the heavy tread of the creatures that roamed
each lightless corner and recess of the mines.
He emerged into many great and vast halls, some
piled to the ceilings with the dusty tomes and text of the dwarfs
that once reigned here. Some held nothing at all but the cursed
silence and decaying bones.
He did not linger to wonder at the marvel or
the shadow, he moved at a run the burning spark of Legolas' fear
urging him on. He had spent so many breathless moments in the uncertain
dark that when he slid deftly down on his side on what was once
a stair, and turned a crumbled corner, the sudden fire of torches
stunned him. He adjusted his eyes and realized he was standing in
an atrium. Breathless, he stood staring at the forks in his path.
Four separate tunnels yawned around him, east, west, north and south.
The steady light that had led him here was now
only a faint shimmer and he balked, fearing he had lost his way.
He closed his eyes, trying to sense which direction favored it.
But there was a scent of death here which filled
the space and he frowned at its potency. It was not the now-familiar
stench of orc. This was a new scent. In his haste he had became
confident that he had left the foul legions all behind. Yet he knew
well that threats other than orcs roamed these halls.
His eyes narrowed on the tunnel directly before
him, glimpsing a heavy shape moving in the shadows.
This was ill luck, indeed. He did not want the
hoards to hinder his path when time had grown so precious. He waited
without breath for the loping shape to approach, sword at the ready
for many foes. But it was neither party of orc nor goblin.
A cave troll. Its might equal to that of both.
He had only time to see the enraged troll charge,
its roar thundering in its wake. Its footsteps shook the walls and
rattled the bones scattered about on the ground.
The enormous creature moved swiftly for its size,
cornering him. He had nowhere to flee and he could not outrun a
troll. It would pursue him through the tunnels until he collapsed
from exhaustion. No, he must engage it here.
It swung its heavy stone club and Aragorn ducked
back against the stone wall. Bits of shattered rock crumbled down
where his head once was. Aragorn's blade was drawn, facing the cave
dweller now circling him. It charged again, its heavy fist seeking
to crush him into the earth. His sword whistled in the air, nicking
its tough hide. It bellowed in pain and anger, fury burning in its
eyes.
Aragorn easily avoided its strong though clumsily
placed blows. But his repeated strikes of his sword, as deep and
swift, did little to impede the monster and only added to its rage.
Deftly he threw a dagger at its massive skull, and it met its mark.
While the troll bellowed in agony and made to pull the knife from
what had once been its eye, Aragorn's blade slashed the thick gray
throat and a fount of black blood gushed forth, its rotted snarl
gurgled and sprayed from behind its hideous hand. The ranger circled
it warily as it swayed, sure that it would soon fall.
It was then he heard the steady stomp and hiss
behind him. Too late he turned, sword raised to see two more cave
trolls bearing down on him, drawn by the clamor of the other's enraged
howls.
He felt the wall at his back as he struck it,
then the sharp stone on his face when he fell to the ground. He
struggled to force his body to obey him, but bright lights flashed
behind his eyes, his face hot with his own blood. A gigantic hand
closed over his leg, but instead of ripping him from limb to limb,
he felt himself being slowly dragged.
Down into the tunnels, away from the meager light,
his last thoughts before he spiraled into unconsciousness were not
of his own pain, but the knowledge that he was not dead yet and
neither was his purpose.
It had not bothered to bind him. Legolas tried
to will his ebbing strength to his arms, to push himself upright
but it was as if his mind and body had been cleaved in two. The
one would not obey the other.
He was forced roughly to his knees, looking down
at the ground. Were it not for the long arms of the Uruk-hai, he
knew he would have collasped. The enormous beast was squatting behind
him, holding him upright with one massive hand beneath his chest.
His wounds, grave as they were, seemed now painless
and far away. He shook, held in a strangely gentle
embrace as though he were an object of curious study. Its language
was guttural and hideous to him.
It let him drop to the ground and with a jerk
he felt his tunic ripped from his back. The clawed hand pressed
between his shoulder blades as if to wonder at the fragile make
of its cousin. Claws raked mercilessly over the bare flesh of his
chest and stomach, its hot breath in his hair behind him. It remained
squatted over him and tore away the soft leather of his breeches.
Its mind touched his as Its hands ravaged his
body. Both violations overlapped and entwined, until Legolas could
not distinguish where one ended and another began.
It snorted and shifted on its haunches, listening
to his feeble moans and then let its touch roil forth again, deeper
still, eroding the fragile hold Legolas had on what control was
left to him and then suddenly, the Elf could hear it speak although
no words were uttered.
thing. of. light.
Legolas felt his eyes roll back and his very
breath stop as the bitter sensation of the hatred which had festered
in the deepest pit of Lord Sauron's realm poured through him like
a vile fount.
Through it there was a great pleasure the beast
felt. Its haunches shook as it leaned down to sink its teeth into
the back of his wounded shoulder with an animal's need. It ran its
hot mouth over his wounds, savoring the blood, tearing further at
the delicate flesh.
you. will. know. me.
He had known pain sharp enough to cut the mind
from the body. And now he shut his consciousness to the raging of
the beast though his flesh felt the harsh thrust of its body and
the daggers of its claws. A rush of the Uruk-hai's intent made his
face burn with its want. "No-nooo.."
in. you. feel. you.
Legolas moaned when the flood struck him again
and again, no longer withdrawing completely but like a rank tide
that ebbed and flowed through his body. It took him slowly and hard
as he cried out again and again, yearning for the oblivion which
never came.
Roaring fires flared and crackled beneath sooty
calderns. Cooking fires. The bubbling caldrons did not hide the
harsh cries of prey, animal and desperate that rang through the
dank halls.
Awareness crept slowly upon Aragorn. He could
only open one eye, the other sticky with blood. Barely, he could
make out the red flicker of fire, its frantic wavering hectic and
making him dizzy with the throb of the wound on his head.
His numbed senses were choked by a thick heat,
his hair damp in his eyes. Spumes of vile steam erupted from the
rock making the air thick as blood. It bore down on him like a mass
weight, scalding what he took into his lungs.
He tried to right himself from the awkward and
painful position he was half sitting, half laying in. But an agonizing
pressure on his throat stopped him, choking for more of the hot
foul air. His hands were free and he shakily put them to his neck
where he found a tightly fastened metal band, fingers feeling the
rusted bolts securing it to the rock behind him. He pulled at the
thick metal band until his fingers bled on its ragged edges. But
it held fast.
He calmed his breathing and focused his eyes,
blinking through the blood.
There were dozens of metal bands attached to
the rock beside him. the dead and the rotting, mostly skeletons
of dwarf and human, some goblin. Half eaten and some nothing but
spine and skull.
The orcs preferred their flesh still living.
How fortunate for him.
He closed his eyes, ignoring the deep ache that
pounded through his head.
I will not die here. Scraps for these beasts.
The noise of orcs met his ears and he lay limp
in his bonds, watching them through eyes half-lidded. They were
talking greedily to each other and he caught the words for "meat"
and "quarter" in their coarse prattle. Rough hands were
on him, sharp claws tracing on his skin which half of him belonged
to whom, as a pig is butchered for market. Anger smoldered deep
in his chest. It took all of his strength not to let fly his rage
as their foul hands touched him. He waited until the noise of their
bickering shifted and they were gone, left to some other task.
Weakly, Aragorn saw his sword tossed amongst
the weathered bones, cast aside like rotted firewood. Pillaged weapons
clattered to the floor along with it. Orc blades, broken refuse
they would melt down to re forge, and his sword, its value lost.
But it was not the scabbard of Anduril that drew his attention now.
He peered at two strange objects which lay like two shards of light
against the blackened steel of the orc weapons.
Elvish blades, their sharp edges dark with drying
blood.
The steady beat of his heart and his pain sounded
like a drum, steadying him, making his focus acute and finer than
a knife's edge. Then he found that small unknown magic he held being
only mostly man, and he touched what he sought again.
....and the gate opened.
It poured into him with the fury of a storm.
His body stiffened, unprepared, and he saw the face of the beast,
felt the touch of its breath, the crushing grip of its claws. It
all flowed forth, the rage of many thousands of years burst into
each moment of the change, each slash of the sword towards and into
the fair flesh of what it once was, destroying the beauty that had
forsaken it. He was being changed. His thoughts were embedded in
chaos, words that were not his own whispered around him.
And then, as fast as it had come, it was gone,
the cooking fires roared up and the heat radiated out as if to devour
him.
He opened his eyes, and Aragorn exhaled his held
breath in a ragged scream.
Even after he knew it had bled from his thoughts
as his blood did his wounds, he still heard the cry. That pained
sound which had pierced his heart the third day in Moria.
Aragorn started, his reawakened mind angered.
Legolas was near. Where his body lay now he knew not but he prayed
that it and the spirit within were still one.
The Uruk-hai watched the fragile rise and fall
of the pale chest as he breathed, waiting for the pain to return.
Or for death. But it had no such intentions. Weak as this body was,
what use was this flesh decayed to it or its Master? It listened
to the erratic whisper of thought, wanting to feel his fear when
the pain came suddenly nearer with a terrifying speed that made
the Elf bite his lip to stifle his scream.
It would not slaughter one such as this. The
blood was too precious. This being whose gentle eyes could not witness
the savage or ill born without weeping was completely subdued, unseeing
and lost.
With its gruesome hand, it took up a crudely
carved drinking horn. Prying his mouth open, forcing his head back
to swallow the vile potion the Uruk-hai had drained from its own
wounds.
dark. in. you.
The Elf choked on the burning fluid that rushed
down his throat. The Uruk-hai saw the lights that surrounded his
forest home dimmed and the fires of Sauron rushed up to devour the
branches. Where the mind descended, the body must soon follow.
join. me.
The will and the courage which had before seemed
so powerful had dwindled to something like a hairlike thread of
steel, one which the Elf clung to desperately to remain himself.
But not for long.
to be continued...
