"Elfsong"
by Lynliss

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Tales and a Decision


        Plates were set before the four who had just arrived at Isengard, and they were piled high with hearty food: sausages, vegetables, and cheese. Merry poured wine, which Nimoë sipped slowly, savoring the crisp tartness of it. Food in her stomach was a sensation which she relished, having almost forgotten what it felt like. Still it could not fully ease the empty ache which had lodged itself in her belly, born of concern for Legolas.
        Once they had all eaten, they went out to the front of the gatehouse where they had consumed their feast. Pippin found that he had in his pocket a spare pipe, which he had brought with him all the way from the Shire, and he gave it to Gimli. The Hobbits and the Dwarf puffed away at the excellent pipe-weed, which had come all the way from the Southfarthing. Aragorn reclined against a wall and bade the Hobbits tell them the tale of what had happened since their capture.
        It was a long and amazing tale. Merry and Pippin related that they had managed to save themselves from the orcs during the fight between the servants of Saruman and the riders of Rohan. From there they had entered Fangorn forest, where they had made the acquaintance of Treebeard, the old Ent. “They do not eat, Ents. Only do they drink, and only the water of the Entwash. Strangely satisfying it was, and it seems that it aids in growth, for as you have noticed, we are taller than when we entered the forest,” piped up Pippin.
        The Ents had gathered together in council and after a great debate, they were roused to take action against Saruman. “Roused Ents are a frightful thing indeed. There was a great Hoom-ing and Hom-ing, and they moved with deadly intent upon Isengard. All the damage that you have seen done here was wrought by the Ents. Their fingers are as strong as roots, and they worked their way into the cracks of the walls, destroying them as easily as time and weather melt away stone,” spoke Merry.
        Pippin interrupted him and continued the narrative, “Then, they managed to reroute the Isen! All of Isengard was flooded, and very nearly were we swept away ourselves. Only by climbing to the top of the highest building left standing did we save ourselves from the maelstrom. They wanted to wash away all signs of orcs from this place, and I surely believe that they have done it.”
        Gimli grunted, “That explains why the banks of the Isen were so long empty. A good use for a river, I say!” Then he sucked deeply upon his pipe.
        Merry spoke again, “So as you see, Saruman has had his hands full. He cannot leave the tower, and all that he has is one man with him, a skulking type of man, who goes by the name of Grima Wormtongue.”
        Legolas leapt up from his seat. “Wormtongue is here?!? Take me where I can find him, for he and I have unfinished business.”
        Nimoë felt her heart stop on hearing the name spoken. Memories of him screaming, “Bind her mouth!” flooded over her, accompanied by an overwhelming sensation of walls closing in around her. Blackness crept in around her vision, and she swayed slightly, clutching at her spinning head with one hand, while the other clenched the ground spasmodically.
        The sounds of voices around her were strangely muffled, and she felt as if they were not a part of her world, only the buzzing of blood in her ears. “Legolas, you cannot reach him within the tower... It is impregnable, even to the Ents, or believe me that it would also be lying in ruins… I will find a way. He has much to answer for…”
        Dank smells filled Nimoë’s nostrils, and she began to shake as the dungeon formed about her, as patently real to her hallucinating mind as if she were back in that chamber of horror. She clutched her hands about herself and rolled over onto the ground, trying to bury herself away from the crushing darkness. A pitiful sob was wrenched from her throat.

        The sob filtered past the rage that filled Legolas and he glanced over at Nimoë. She was curled in upon herself, her face pressed into the earth, grasping her arms tightly to her body as if trying to hold herself to this world. Before he had time to think he was on his knees beside her, with his hand laid upon her back, asking, “Nimoë, what is wrong?”
        Her stormy grey eyes looked up, but they did not see him. They were plainly observing some other, more frightening reality. “The darkness is coming closer… I cannot breathe… The darkness!”
        Legolas pulled her up off the ground, holding her trembling body tightly. “Nimoë, you are with friends. Whatever you are seeing, it is not real. Wormtongue cannot reach you. I will never let him harm you again.”
        Seeing that there was no response to his cajoling words, he stopped speaking and brought his lips down onto hers. All of his soul he poured into the caress, and all of the strength of his heart. If anything would break past the delirium which beset his dearest, it would be the power of his love, and he allowed every part of his spirit to flow into the kiss, offering all that he had to give.

        Slowly the blinding darkness began to fade, and in its place was a brilliant light, suffused with every color of the rainbow, although the warm yellow of sunlight was the most prevalent. Nimoë reached out with all of her being to embrace the light, to absorb it into her body, chasing away the chill dread which had lain upon her heart.
        Awareness of her body began to creep back, and she found that she was trembling, but not with fear. With joy! Her hands were wrapped into the folds of a soft tunic, which was warm with the heat of the body within it. The smell of cedar and spices wafted up to her, and her eyes flew open.
        On seeing her open her eyes, and sensing the return of her conscious mind, Legolas broke off his kiss. His hand sought her cheek and he stroked it softly. “Are you back with us?” he whispered.
        Nimoë nodded slowly, not wanting to speak, for fear that if she did he would leave her alone again. To be back in his embrace was like returning home and she did not want to chance driving him away. His eyes, so close to hers, were pools of liquid blue, as clear as a cloudless sky. So beautiful, she thought. So amazingly pure.
        His voice was kind and comforting as he spoke, “It was Wormtongue, was it not? Hearing his name spoken brought you back to the dungeon and the torment you faced there. Do not fear, for once I have him within my sights he shall not live long enough to breathe, let alone hurt you again, dear heart. If he dares to show his face, my arrow shall pierce him through.”
        Murmurs swirled about them, and Nimoë caught a few words of it, “What is happening? Are they lovers?”
        It was Pippin who had spoken, and Merry shushed him briskly, “Do not ask such questions. It is unseemly.”
        Pippin refused to be dissuaded. “But look at them!”
        Reluctantly, Nimoë pushed herself away from the Elf Prince. “Look at us, indeed. I am so very sorry. Such weakness is an embarrassment to me. That hearing a name spoken can send me to another place… It is humiliating. Please, try to forget what you saw. I prefer to keep my weaknesses private, if possible.”
        Pippin raised his hands in front of him. “I saw nothing. Did you Merry? Aragorn? Gimli?”
        They all shook their heads, and they looked so comical in their feigned nonchalance that Nimoë could not help but laugh. Once begun, the chuckles could not be stopped, and soon she was laughing so hard that she was clutching her stomach, unable to fully breathe. She knew that if Legolas was not by her side, that the hysterical laughter could well have turned into tears, but she took comfort in his presence and was finally able to control herself.

        Legolas stood and offered his hand to assist her in rising. She took it gratefully and they turned to face the others. “Is it not time to be joining Gandalf?” he asked.
        Aragorn nodded. “Of course. Merry, Pippin, lead us onward.”
        Legolas kept Nimoë’s hand clasped firmly in his own. It shook him to realize how much seeing her suffering hurt him as well. He knew that he could not have stopped himself from going to her aid if he had wanted to. Some primitive instinct deep inside of him drove him to protect her at any cost.
        Aragorn’s earlier words of counsel seemed to ring in his ears, “If you are forced to chose between Nimoë and the quest, you must chose the quest. It is your duty.” He knew now that if the choice came of saving Nimoë or completing the quest, he could not help but try to save his love. That left him with only one choice. He had to leave her behind.
        And in doing so, he risked losing her forever.



Author’s Note: Hi there all! I am going to do something that I swore to myself I would never do. I am going to plug another story. If you find this offensive, stop reading now! I have really appreciated all of your wonderful comments, and you have inspired me to try fixing up one of my original stories, hopefully to try and get it published. It is the only other story that I have felt as good about as Elfsong. I have uploaded the first two chapters here on fanfiction.net, under Originals-Fantasy. Its title is “Of Trees and Treason” (awful title I know). I would really appreciate it if any of you would take the time to read it and give me some critical feedback. I will be fixing up more and uploading it with regularity (although I don’t know if I’ll be quite as fast as I am with Elfsong). Feel free to ignore this if you have no interest, but if you do, I would really appreciate your comments. Thanks!!!