King's Courtesan - Chapter 7 (2 of 2)

[aubreym]

Title: King's Courtesan - Chapter 7
Rating: NC-17 this chapter
Pairing: Legolas/Boromir, Legolas/Gandalf (in part 1 of 2)
Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

Chapter 7: Shadows (cont)

It was early in the following day when they came upon the tomb.  As the morning wore on, Gimli had grown quieter, until he was near silent.  Legolas knew he must have been wondering about his kinsmen.  It was odd that no one had yet approached any of the travelers – but no one commented on it, not even Pippin.  There was a thickness to the air, an almost tangible feeling of foreboding.  It made the hair on the back of Legolas' neck prickle and he kept one hand over the hilt of his knives.  He could see the muscles tensed along Boromir's shoulders.  The Man felt it as well.  The hobbits had also fallen silent.  It was more than simply the unrelenting darkness, it almost felt like a presence.

When they came upon the large stone sarcophagus Legolas understood the sensation.  They were in the company of the restless dead.  Gandalf paged through the tattered book that sat atop the stone and the Men stood watch.  But Gimli... Gimli dropped to his knees and loosed a wail of grief that skittered along the stone walls until it was swallowed by the greater silence.  He bowed his head and tears dripped into the dust of the floor.  For a long moment no one spoke or approached him, leaving him alone in his grief.  Boromir shifted his weight from foot to foot.  Aragorn bent over the journal with Gandalf.  Merry and Pippin whispered to Frodo and Sam about their disappointment and fear.

Had none of them been brushed by death, Legolas wondered.  He could not imagine it to be so, in such days.  And so it was that he approached Gimli in silence.  He stood close behind the dwarf and rested one hand on his shaking shoulder.  Neither moved, even and Gandalf read aloud the transcript of the last battle approaching those who had been caught in that very room.  And then, as his voice trailed off, Gimli reached up and put one calloused hand over Legolas'.

Silence filled the room, though it felt loud with unvoiced fear.  Suddenly there was a resounding clatter and everyone startled.  Pippin looked sheepish, as the rest of the skeleton dropped down the well.  Gandalf snapped at the young hobbit and the spell that seemed to be holding them broke.  Gimli stood, stepping away from Legolas' support.  Aragorn and Boromir made their way to the door.  And then they all heard it.  Drums in the deep.  Something was coming.

Too quickly they found themselves trapped as the dwarves had been, caught in this ssmall room as fell creatures gathered without.  As Boromir and Aragorn strained to close the large door, Legolas notched arrow to bow and let fly over their heads.  He heard a shriek as it struck home, but the goblins came on unheeding.

Legolas'  heart beat picked up, but his breath came slow and steady.  This was what he had been waiting for; it was what he had trained for.  No mere play, this.  A fierce joy rose through him, bringing heat to his cheeks.  He glanced to one side and saw the same feral glow in Boromir's eyes.  Even Gimli's lips were stretched in a grimace of excitement, his ax gripped low and ready to hew heads from necks.

A sharp cracking resounded in the chamber.  It came again and the door split wide.  Goblins poured in and there was no more time to think.  Legolas' bow sang in his hands.  Aragorn and Boromir's swords danced.  Black blood spurted over them, dark creatures piled at their feet and still more came.  But Legolas was not even winded.  His voice lifted in a battle song and soon it was joined by a deep baritone.  Gimli sang as his ax fell again and again, wreaking vengeance for his kin.  Gandalf swung his staff, cracking heads and knees and every now and again lightening would arc from the tip and strike down orc and goblin.  Even the hobbits rushed in, blades drawn and biting.  It was a scene of carnage, but they were gaining the upper hand.

Until... until there came the sound of heavy footsteps, and a creature three times as tall as Boromir, and uglier than a thrice cursed orc sloped into the room.

“Cave troll,” Boromir called and their attack turned to meet it head on.  Even facing this, the joy that sang in Legolas' blood like his bow, the Men's swords, the hobbits' blades, the dwarf's ax would not be dampened.  It flowed through him, moving his body as though he danced.
Blades seemed unable to pierce the troll's thick gray hide and with a casual backhand it knocked both Aragorn and Boromir across the room.

“Legolas,” Gandalf cried, but the elf's bow was already singing.  The first pair of arrows hit it square in the chest but bounced off harmlessly.  Before anyone could stop it, the troll had raised its pike and drove it down onto Frodo.  Pippin, Sam and Merry cried out simultaneously and leaped forward, heedless of the danger.  Gimli and Legolas followed hard on their heels.

“Keep it busy,” Legolas said to Gimli as he passed.  The dwarf nodded once and Legolas ducked behind the beast.  With one smooth motion he leaped onto a ledge and from there to the troll's back, climbing atop and clinging to the chain around its neck, though it tried to shake him off as a horse would a fly.  The sounds of the battle below receded  as Legolas pulled free his last two arrows, notched them and let fly, straight into the troll's skull.  Unable to breathe, it groaned then toppled forward, crushing several smaller goblins beneath its bulk.

“Now away,” Aragorn ordered and they fled through the open doorway, Aragorn carrying a prone Frodo.

They raced through halls large enough to hold many times their small number, followed by orc and goblin.  The air was redolent with the miasma of the creatures' breath and bodies, and thick with their arrows.  As he ran, Legolas picked up fallen arrows to replenish his stock.
Suddenly there was a distant thudding, deeper than that of orcish drums and as Legolas glanced over his shoulder he noticed a faint orange glow.  The dark creatures scattered, fleeing without warning or explanation.  Legolas' own puzzlement was mirrored on Aragorn's face – though Gimli looked only displeased at being deprived of battle.  “Where,” Legolas began when Frodo stirred in Aragorn's arms with a soft groan.

The surprise and pleasure that flooded the fellowship was instantaneous and effusive.  Sam threw his arms around his 'Mr. Frodo' as though he would never again let go.  Merry and Pippin pelted him with questions and even Gandalf's eyes glowed bright.

Frodo did not waste words with explanation, merely opened his shirt to reveal an undershirt of mithril chain.  Though several links had been bent by the troll's weapon, the armor was barely harmed and the hobbit beneath even less so.  Even with the slight marring the mithril shone in the darkness of the mine with the light of Ithil and the elenath.  Looking upon it, it felt as though a light breeze carrying the scent of pine brushed his cheek; Legolas felt his heart lift slightly.  Even in a place of such deep dark, light could be found.  He was not completely cut off from the wider world.

Their momentary respite was cut short as another resounding thud echoed through the chamber.  The scent of pine faded, to be replaced with that of sulfur and a strange warmth surrounded them.  The group turned as one to see what approached.

An awe-filled horror filled Legolas.  He felt the color drain from his face and an odd trembling began in his fingers and spread quickly through his entire body.  A towering creature, built of smoke and fire filled the entrance of the hall.  Its horns razed the ceiling and its wings brushed the walls.  “Ai, ai, a Balrog is come.”  Legolas gave voice to the dismay that clenched all of their hearts.

“Run,” Aragorn said.

They did.  They flew lightly over the stone floor like leaves before a storm.  Behind them came the heavy footfalls of the Balrog and the heat of its flame licked at their heels.  Legolas barely noticed as they dashed across an abyss, bridged only by the thinnest stone, so close could he feel the beast at his back.  Though orcish arrows fell around them, none stopped to return fire.

Suddenly Frodo turned.  Following his gaze, Legolas saw Gandalf.  The wizard stood alone in the center of the bridge.  His staff was planted before him and he was still and unwavering as a stature.  Despair sank into the pit of Legolas' stomach like a stone.  His palms grew damp.
At the far end of the bridge the Balrog stepped forward.  Huge wings stretched up behind it, trailing smoke.  The wizard did not blink.  Slowly he raised his staff and called out a challenge.  The Balrog answered with a roar that shook the mountain around them.

Legolas' lips shaped a word, but no sound escaped him.

“You shall not pass!”  Gandalf's voice, though smaller than the Balrog's held all his formidable power and it echoed through Legolas' head in a roll of thunder.  His staff came down on the stone with an arc of blue light.  The Balrog stepped forward once more and the bridge crumbled, dropping from beneath its feet.  With another roar it plunged into the abyss.

A shock of relief so palpable that he shuddered went through Legolas.  He raised his bow at last to return the goblin's fire.  Before he could loose his first arrow, a whip of flame snaked from the darkness and twisted around Gandalf's ankle.  Without thought, Legolas dropped the arrow, springing forward.  Time slowed as the wizard was tugged.  He would not make it -

And then Gandalf was pulled over the edge.  He gripped the lip of stone for the briefest of moments, “Fly you fools,” he gasped and was gone.

“No!  Gandalf!”  Frodo's cry gave voice to the words stuck in Legolas' own mouth.  An arrow flew past the halfling to bounce off the wall, then Aragorn had scooped him up and was running from the chamber.  Boromir held Pippin, and the others had already disappeared down the nearest corridor.

At last Legolas loosed an arrow, sending it winging after the goblin archer and covering the remainder of the fellowship as they retreated.
Later he would remember little about their last mad flight through Moria, only strange fragments like a fever dream.  Frodo's sobs echoing through the halls.  The pounding of their feet.  The scent of goblin that clogged his throat.

It was not until he stood free in the wilderness once again that time resumed its normal forward march.  The fellowship, now splintered, froze as their flight left them.  Pippin curled on the ground, Merry holding him close.  Gimli, head bowed, tears dropping silently into his beard.  Boromir, grief etched deep in the lines of his face, stood a respectful distance from Frodo who had Sam at his back.  Aragorn stood alone, head turned toward the path they would take from the mines.  Legolas closed his eyes but the tableau was burned against the dark of his mind.

He had failed.  Failed Gandalf and thus failed them all, possibly to the ruin of the quest.  Without the wizard's direction, without his magic, without his protection, could they succeed?  For the first time since they left Imladris, Legolas doubted.  He had not imagined he would fail – and not so soon.  If he had given more, perhaps Gandalf would have been strong enough to best the Balrog.  Perhaps.

Aragorn's voice broke into his reverie.  His words were sharp, brittle with fear and grief.  They must move on.  They must reach Lothlorien before nightfall.  Before the orc were released from their prison of stone.  And so they began to walk again, feet heavy and hearts full.  They had not yet reached Mordor and already they had lost one.

Legolas allowed the others to pass then took up the rear.  As he walked he made a vow.  No one else.  If necessary, he would give everything, even his own life, for their safety.  Perhaps in Lorien he could fined someone better suited to take his place.  Someone stronger, faster.  A true warrior without the weakness of a courtesan.  Perhaps Haldir, Marchwarden of Lorien, would better serve the Fellowship.  To the benefit of all Arda.  If so, Legolas would step aside.  He would live only for his Fellowship.

Comments

[mellymalthen.livejournal.com]

Lovely!

It's sooo got me wanting to read the books again. I remember the movie, but this is different from that, so I want to compare the two to see how they compare with your version of the picture.

That said, and as much as I hate to admit it, I'm looking forward to someone's inevitable death. Swearing to lose no one else is gonna come back to chomp Legolas on the tush, and I'm sure it is going to be delicious. Darling Boromir doesn't get enough mourning ever. More tears for Boromir!

Course, I have to wait a bit for that, and I suck with waiting, so, uh, write faster, girlie!