Fading Legends: Part III
Mordor.
The very name sends a chill to my heart, and yet, strange hope.
I live in my mother and father’s shadow. Their great deeds are song around the land, even the trees remember them. They are legends. And what am I then?
Mordor holds hope for me to step out of their shadow and shine on my own. Just once, until legends will no longer be made, only remembered.
Even legends will be forgotten though. But I would like to be remembered, if only for a little while.
To be a legend…
~~~~~~
Gimli was still shaking his head when they continued eastwards, the abandoned Minas Morgul greeting them with a chill air of menace. Even abandoned it seemed to radiate evil, though moss was growing on it. One day green grass might grown again on its slopes, though Legolas doubted it. Some things could never be fully cured..
Aneana seemed to be studying it as they approached, pretending not to notice the way the dwarf was shaking his head and looking at her. Gimli had not been happy that she had insisted to come along, but she argued that she would probably be safer with them than in Minas Tirith.
She was stubborn, and even the dwarf had given up trying to get her to return home after a while. She simply refused, clutching her sword and looking ready to charge thousands of orcs.
Legolas had not said much, knowing she would most likely follow them anyway. She was used to people doing what she wanted, the elf could tell, by the calm way she would counter the dwarf’s arguments.
The shadow-being had called her Arwen. It troubled Legolas, that and the strange feeling they were being watched. By what, he could not tell. But something was aware of them, as they made their way in the direction Legolas had seen the shadow-shape escape. Past Minas Morgul and into the heart of Mordor.
"Minas Morgul," Aneana suddenly said, a slight shiver in her voice. "I hear its whispers sometimes, in the wind. My father believed there was still evil hiding there, buried deep. Few dares enter and no one has explored very far. Some never returned."
"No dwarf fears the darkness," Gimli grunted, taking in the tower. But Legolas noticed that he clutched his axe harder. The dwarf was no fool, he had seen the evil that could lurk in the dark.
As he spoke, the wind rose and whipped around them, silently whispering with a foulness that reminded Legolas of Saruman and the wizard’s attempts to stop the Fellowship at the pass of Caradhras.
Saruman… No, Saruman was dead. Frodo had seen it, there could be no mistake.
Yet…
Five Istari. Five wizards, come from beyond the sea. Gandalf had been the mightiest, going through fire and death for them all.
Five wizards. Not all had been accounted far, vanishing in Middle-earth and forgetting their purpose.
If one had turned to evil, could another have?
******
The shadows waited, watching their master mutter angrily. The winds gathered around him, growing in strength. He was angry, and the anger filled the dark chamber until the very air sparkled.
"I want the elves!" he hissed, a voice so terrible even the orcs had covered when he had spoken to them. Holding up his had, the gold on his finger shone brightly.
One ring. Perhaps he could make another. The elves had made rings. Perhaps… Perhaps he could have more use for them than he had thought.
"Bring me one of the elves!"
The shadows began to grow, taking on shapes and gathering darkness.
The being smiled then, a smile that once had seemed human. He had once had the shape of a human, but his spirit had forgotten. It had forgotten sunlight and beauty and purpose. It had been a great spirit, a spirit sent to fight evil.
It had forgotten that now. It remembered only darkness and torment, and it wanted revenge.
Revenge by inflicting the same on others.
Pain. Pain was power.
*******
The land of Mordor was quiet as they moved through it, except for the wind. It rose and fell, but it was always there. The whispers were low now, sounding almost excited.
They climbed the mountains without too much trouble, alert and weapons ready. Yet the land seemed empty to Legolas’s keen eyes, nothing moving.
He would have welcomed a few orcs as opposed to the empty silence. It was as if the very land was waiting. And it seemed so… Less, now, like all of Middle-earth. If even Mordor could fade, what then of the rest of Middle-earth?
Aragorn was gone. Arwen was gone. So many had left. Galadriel, Elrond, Frodo, Sam, his father Thranduil…
All gone. Closing his eyes for a brief second, Legolas felt the familiar sense of longing fill him.
What was left for him in Middle-earth?
When he opened his eyes again, Gimli was by his side, looking at him as if the dwarf knew what he was thinking. The dwarf offered a sad smile before trotting on, quickly catching up with Aneana.
Higher and higher they climbed, past the place of the Black Gate. It was torn down now, and empty. Here the last great battle of Middle-earth had been fought, but it was not where it had been won.
Mount Doom. It looked quiet, no smoke or sign of life coming from it. Even the mountain seemed old and weathered now, like it had never sprouted fire. It seemed smaller too, and deep cracks had almost rendered it in two.
Leaping, the elf caught up with the other two. But even as he did, a wind grabbed hold of him, so strong it nearly pushed them all to the ground.
"Legolasssss…" the wind whispered. "Come…"
And even in broad sunlight, Legolas felt cold.