A/N: Yay, this one didn't take a one to two months to be posted! If you haven't guessed it yet, this story is starting to wrap up…
Chapter Thirteen
Break and Enter
Saruman angrily strode from the room he had stormed into only moments before, his irritation standing our clearly on his face. But lurking underneath the bubbling layer of annoyance and impatience lay a dark pleasure, a pleasure that was only satisfied by contemptuous mockery. How he loved his exceedingly superior knowledge and authority, which allowed him to sneer disdainfully at an offending infidel who dare take the instructions of the white wizard lightly. He would belittle the weak by speaking to them as if they were a mere child, reprimanding with a mockery of patience that purposely did not mask the acidity of his words. This was his one true ego boost and he savored the situation when it arose. His mood lifted slightly at the prospect of this desirable predicament, and the sorcerer moved with a quicker step to the room where the day's events had come to the boiling point.
And there he was, sprawled face down on the glittering tiles. Saruman paused, slightly disturbed, but not enough to hurry to his servant's side. Almost leisurely he walked across the room, not even sparing the greasy haired man a second glance, as he was too busy scowling silently at his once prized set of crystal scales that had been unceremoniously smashed to pieces. But as he reached the stricken man on the floor, he noticed the edge of the dark puddle he was lying in, concealing it from a casual eye. Quickly flipping the prone form over with his foot, the wizard knew within a moment he was dead. Those darkened eyes seemed to absorb the light instead of reflect, and the unnatural whiteness of the skin diagnosed the cause of death; blood loss. Saruman drew his foot away in fear of staining his boot and stood still for a moment. 'Grima was useful, but not so useful he cannot be replaced' he thought, staring at the body with mixed emotions. But one of the most prominent emotions was alarm, for the prisoners were nowhere to be seen. Concentrating hard, he mentally summoned one of the head orcs to him and then crossed the room once more, heading back to consult the palantir.
Upon reaching the room he had originally flown from in rage seeking Grima, he stopped dead in mid-step as a harsh crunching met his ears. Looking down and lifting his foot, Saruman saw a pile of silvery powder. Quickly scanning the floor of the chamber, it didn't take him long to realize he had crushed a shard of glass, one of many pieces that littered the floor. Saruman's suspicions rose quickly, wondering who had been in the room, but suddenly paused. 'Of course, my goblet' he thought calmly, and headed for the covered palantir on its ornately carved stand. It would be fruitless for even him to search the many passages of Orthanc without aid. Reaching to draw the cover off the orb, he paused once more. He had meant to pry into the minds of one of his captives, but he then thought of another matter that he could attend to at the same time. He decided to check into this matter swiftly, for something seemed to draw him to this idea like a glimmer of encouragement. Throwing the cover off completely, Saruman braced himself mentally and began searching for the heir of Gondor.
He gathered his strength as he found him, expecting to meet resistance. But instead he found none. It was jarring, similar to descending stairs in the dark and expecting another step, yet hitting solid ground instead. An evil smile crept across the wizard's thin lips as he entered the swirling bank of images that was the man's mind. But the smile suddenly faltered. This was easy, too easy; he still had met no resistance. Brushing this uneasiness aside, he began to pick apart recent memories in hopes of finding something about the ring. This must have triggered one of them, for a memory began playing, and there he was; the blond prisoner he had ordered. The point of view in which he was watching this briefly glimpsed the elf struggling with many orcs, fighting with only a knife. The view swiveled to a press of orcs in front that were trying to subdue him. A blade flashed before his eyes, his own blade; Anduril. This banished any lingering shred of doubt of identity Saruman had as this could only be the heir. He continued to watch as the blade sliced viciously at the rabble of orcs. Holding them off for the moment, he turned to look at a dwarf nearby and then scanned the whole scene quickly before launching another attack.
Besides seeing these images replayed, the wizard could also feel the emotions that had been coursing through the man's body at the time. It was mostly a mixture of determination and the rush that comes with adrenaline, but lurking underneath was fear. A fear that grew each time he spared a glance at his outnumbered comrades being hemmed in, each time he cut down an orc who was only replaced with two more. Suddenly he stopped as the elf, who was now encircled, whipped around with weapon at the ready, just in time to take an arrow to the chest. The man's throat constricted, creating a paralyzing effect, his insides turning to ice. His vision blurring from exhaustion and shock, he only caught the injured form collapse before he himself was seized and bound to a tree. He barely registered the dwarf who was bound beside him, lost in anger and fear, a creeping dread that chilled his soul. 'I have failed again, I cannot do this! I can't save my friends; I cannot save the city…' Saruman heard the man's thought float across his own mind as if he had conceived it. These feelings of guilt, shock and fear were creating a whirlwind inside of him, sucking him into darkness. Saruman started suddenly as he realized that he himself was being sucked in as well, those powerful feelings straining at the wizard's link to the real world. Desperately clinging to his own consciousness, he struggled to resurface to reality. Even though the agony was not physically real, it threatened to consume him. Suddenly a harsh clattering of metal on stone broke the grasp of the whirlwind.
Saruman found himself stumbling backwards, and the silence that seemed as deafening in contrast as the mental storm was not the only thing greeting him. He straightened, his breathing slightly uneven, and gave the head orc he had summoned earlier as cold of a stare as he could manage. The orc was picking up his heavy shield, which explained the metallic resonation that had actually saved him. The wizard glanced at the shield once more. "I do not care what you were doing before; I need you to tend to a matter. In the chamber across the hall and to the right you will find a body. Dispose of it anyway you wish" he said, gesturing for him to leave. The silent orc just looked at him, grinning slightly before exiting. Saruman sat down in the chair in front of the table in which the scroll he had been poring over before still lay half open. He pressed a hand to his forehead. He had not lost control like that for a long time. This anticipation of learning of the ring had caused carelessness. But it had not all been in vain, for he had learnt that the blond elf was not valuable to the heir only because of his title. 'Even better' he sneered. He lifted his head once more and took a deep breath. As he did so, he spotted something on the floor he had missed among the shards. It was a scrap of shredded netting. Not taking his eyes off it, he walked towards it and picked it up. He shifted his gaze to the glittering shards on the floor. Then his eyes quickly darted around the room, and found what he was looking for. Briskly walking over to his towering shelves, he yanked out two large nets from behind the toppled books that had hastily been arranged to hide the evidence. 'They're loose' he though numbly, and still gripping a net, ran for the door with a snarl.
A relentless haze of images clouded the ranger's mind, accompanied by an overwhelming sense of vertigo. He was spinning endlessly, in a dimension where there was no gravity. And he wasn't alone. Through the nausea of this out of body experience, Aragorn could sense the intruder's mind and intentions, yet was powerless to stop it. Suddenly new images flickered in his mind, and these were not hazy or random; they followed a specific pattern. Aragorn stood on the edge of control as the night the Three Hunters had been sundered inadvertently began playing.
Gimli hovered over the fallen man nervously. He had already ripped the drugged dart from his arm, and was now trying to get a response from him. He had been trying for at least ten minutes. Shifting from foot to foot, not knowing what to do next, he suddenly spotted the answer to his question; the horse. "Of course!" Gimli breathed aloud and quickly left the man's side to reach the wandering horse. As Gimli neared the creature, he cautiously stuck out his arm while advancing. But there was no need, as the horse hardly shied away. He grabbed at the dangling reins and attempted to drag the horse the short distance to Aragorn; no easy task in the case of a tired horse who was determined to rest. Perhaps Gimli had just believed the horse to be stubborn, or its attitude to be yet another stroke of bad luck, but it didn't dawn on him how far the beast had actually traveled until he managed to get him to Aragorn. But there was another pressing matter; how would he get ON to the horse?
Legolas stared bleakly down a pitch black corridor. They had been wandering for some time now, wandering deeper and deeper into the web of halls and rooms, which only seemed to contain stairwells leading upwards. They had now reached the end of the hall they had been following only to discover it split four ways. And unlike the hall they had just been in, these did not contain any windows; they were pitch black. They were also narrower which would hinder their travel greatly as they were all walking abreast and each supporting the one on their side. Legolas started from his trance as Elladan, who was in the middle, lurched forward with dry coughs wracking his body. Both he and Elrohir tightened their grip on him and pulled him back, preventing him from collapsing on the ground. They did this with concern, but they were not overly shocked as these outbursts had become routine. After escaping confinement, they had enjoyed the fresh air and fairly comfortable atmosphere of the room containing the palantir. But they quickly that that was one of the only comfortable rooms, because it was Saruman's study. Further down it was much colder, and what was worse was the bone chilling damp. Elrohir had quietly filled Legolas in on their capture as they hurried as fast as they could through the dripping maze, including Elladan's circumstances. Legolas had been surprised upon hearing of his bad reaction, not guessing at it because of the loss of its effect in the warm study. But the damp vapor began to back up Elrohir's words, as Elladan's still weakened immune system paid the price. "Any idea?" Elrohir asked Legolas quietly, as Elladan sagged between them, trying to catch his breath. Legolas shook his head, closed his eyes and took an audible breath.
"Besides, I believe it's your turn to choose?" he replied as an afterthought.
"Second from the right it is, then. But it appears fairly narrow; we'll have to split apart. I can support him but you'll have to lead us; blind, most likely".
"Then let's continue" Legolas said, preparing to let go of Elladan. But Elladan wasn't prepared and tried to get a grasp on Legolas' shoulder once more as he broke away. Unfortunately his shaking hand slipped and struck Legolas' crudely bandaged chest quite forcefully, driven by panic. Legolas exhaled sharply, and turned quickly to face the cold stone wall, one arm around his chest and the other stretched out to the wall for support. Another outburst of coughing erupted behind him, but this time it was triggered by speech, not cold.
"I… s-sorry, didn't… mean…" Elladan managed to gasp out, being lead forward with Elrohir, and reaching a hand out to rest on the fair haired elf's shoulder.
"What is it that ails you? I knew not of any injury…" Elrohir asked, for they had been too busy earlier discussing their escape route and Saruman's motivations. Legolas grit his teeth as he felt warm droplets of blood seep through the rough bandages and slid over his fingers that held his chest. Not dropping his hand, he slowly turned to face them.
"An arrow wound, it's just not had time to heal" he explained, as he took off his cloak, retrieved his knife and cut two strips from the bottom before holding it out to Elladan. The twins no longer had their cloaks, and Elladan received it with a grateful nod of the head. He would have put up some protest but it was beginning to be difficult to feel his fingers. Legolas quickly looped the pieces of cloth around his original but now slightly saturated bandages, and fumbled with the knots until Elrohir lowered Elladan for a moment and unabashedly came to his aid. Legolas whispered his thanks, somewhat embarrassed as he moved back to Elladan.
"Well, whatever the reason behind these injuries and this situation, we need to go. Lead on." Elrohir said, once more supporting Elladan with his arm around his back and Elladan's arm around his own shoulder. With that, Legolas stepped into the inky hall and walked several paces, one hand trailing along the right side of the wall. He could hear the twins behind him, but their steps were faltering.
"Wait" Elrohir interjected suddenly. "This darkness is muffling, I can hardly see or hear you, come back a bit". Legolas retraced his steps slightly, with the hand that wasn't being guided by the wall, extended. Suddenly his hand was grabbed by a smooth, strong hand that was betrayed by a tight bandage, and despite the knowledge it was Elrohir he still started slightly; the darkness was deceiving, for Legolas had guessed him farther away. With one hand guiding and the other leading they continued, still with the occasional fit of coughing coming from behind him that Legolas could tell Elladan was trying to cover. Left with the darkness, it gave Legolas time to mull over the questions that had been irking him for some time. Where were Aragorn and Gimli? Had they escaped the orcs unscathed? Secretly Legolas believed the latter to be impossible, but he hid this from even himself. But if so, would they continue to the war, believing him dead? 'I can't blame them if they did think I perished' he thought, letting his guiding hand press to his chest momentarily, partially in memory but mostly with the purpose of trying to ease the pain. Reluctantly he groped for the wall again, a low moan adding to the ache in his chest, only to find the wall gone.
Two events that contained more action than the past hour occurred in a second; Aragorn's eyes shot open and he sat up abruptly and Gimli jumped violently and cursed as equally violently in Dwarvish. "You're awake!" Gimli exclaimed, spluttering slightly from shock. To his further surprise Aragorn stood, wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, and turned his eyes to the expanse of then plains, then to the now upright horse and finally came to rest on Gimli.
"Where are we?" he asked. Gimli paused.
"You don't remember? The orc with the knife, who was out for a 'walk'?" he said uneasily. Aragorn stared at the dwarf heard, his brow knitting and his arm reaching to massage his numb shoulder.
'But where is Legolas? I just saw him… being shot!' he thought silently, but gasping loudly as he came to realization. "Yes, we're going to find Legolas, he was captured" Aragorn answered firmly.
"Er… no, you decided he would have wanted us to continue…" Gimli said uncomfortably, staring at the ground.
"Yes, I did say that, but I've changed my mind." Gimli stared at him. "Do not look so worried, Master Dwarf! I have truly come back to my senses. While I was unconscious, someone tried to enter my mind again. Of course they succeeded quite easily this time. It is ill that they succeeded, but I now know their identity. And he most certainly is holding Legolas, he wanted information of him… but there was something else he desired, something important. I know now that this is no coincidence, it has everything to do with the war!" Aragorn said, gaining strength and confidence with every spoken word. Suddenly he turned to face the whistling wind. "I command thee, to Isengard!" he shouted. Suddenly the dreary plains brightened and sprang to attention with shimmering warriors. Gimli let loose a shout of surprise, for he had completely forgotten the dead army. However surprising, it was as encouraging to the dwarf as the elvish words that were now being whispered by the man to the reviving horse.
A/N: HUZZAH! This is by far one of the longest chapters I've written; over 3000 words! It's also the chapter that I took the longest on, so I hope it clears things up. I also hope I made things a bit darker for you (cough, VIRESSE,cough! No really, I appreciate the feedback!), last chapter I gave them a break, but now the break's over. Next chap will be even darker for a certain group of elves (hmmm I wonder who they are…)! Thanks for the continued support guys!