章 66: The paths of the dead
Silent volutes of ghostly smoke rose before the unhealthy cave. Even the twins' banter had ceased, killed by the creepiness of the place. Now the whole group of rangers stood in front of what seemed the mountain's mouth. The hole was dark enough to be a bottomless well, or a burial pit; would it swallow them entirely, never to see the light again ?
Not to say that the light was very attractive either. From the moment the day rose the whole valley had been bathed in a blank filtered light. It was exactly the kind of weather that made Frances feel claustrophobic, like a blanket that prevented her from breathing. The mere thought of getting inside this cave was, however, much worse, and even the horses were tense. They had dismounted to approach the entrance further, the rangers keeping a tight hand on the reins.
Aragorn, in all his chieftain's glory, refused to be intimidated, and he turned to his companions with a resolved expression.
"My blood runs chills," muttered Gimli.
"This is an evil door," said Halbarad, his face set in a displeased frown. "My death lies beyond it."
Frances rolled her eyes at the sudden theatrics. Still, she had to admit that the ranger had a point. Her knees trembled, and it wasn't from the pain. Riding behind Elladan had, so far, quite protected her thigh from the strain.
"No horse will enter," came Halbarad's conclusion.
To this, Aragorn glanced at the loyal steeds that had borne them until there. The beasts were terrified, their eyes darting in all directions, tail restlessly chasing at imaginary moths. Yet, they could not afford to leave them.
"The horses must go too, for if ever we come through this darkness, many leagues lie beyond. Follow me."
Then, he strode into the darkness, his hand holding firm at the leash of his steed. And surprisingly, the horse followed. Stunned, the young woman watched as one by one, the rangers disappeared under the arch of this accursed mountain. Such was the strength of Aragorn's will! Very soon, she was left with the twins, Legolas and Gimli. Their Rohirrim steed, Arod, was trembling in fear and refused to move. Frances' heart went to the beast. She was, herself, quite ready to faint such was the evil vibe of the passage. Then, Legolas laid a hand on the horse's eyes, and started singing softly in elvish. The beauty of his lullaby eventually soothed the animal, so much that he allowed the elf to lead him into the cave. Frances watched him as his light disappeared into the nothingness under the mountain. Somehow, his soft words had settled her heart as well. Elven magic, surely.
"Let us follow," said Elrohir, gesturing for her to lead on.
Behind her, Elladan was lighting up a torch. And further away was Gimli's stricken face. Frances straightened, and took a few steps forward. Her heart raced, but she refused to back down. Now was not the time to give Halbarad reasons to believe her weak. Right in front of her, the faint light of Legolas was already starting to disappear. Stumbling in the pitch dark hole, Frances shuddered. She never wanted that light to fade. Nor physically, nor literally.
It was the first time since they departed that she had laid eyes upon the elf again. Legolas had kept his distances from her ever since the argument with Halbarad. The prince had made no secret that he reproved her behaviour, even if he had not voiced any reproaches. She was grateful for this; Frances did not know how she might have handled his disappointment. Sometimes, Legolas's old age showed through a wisdom that could be quite overwhelming. Still, the young lady felt his absence by her side. Maybe it was for the best. Frances' close bond with the twins had kept her mind occupied. Mostly. But it was a tremendous effort to manage to keep her mind of him for more than mere seconds in a row.
The low ceiling was quickly getting on her nerves. There was barely enough light to make out the ground, even with Elladan's torch. Still, the company progressed swiftly. Terror was quickly getting a hold on Frances. She refused to let panic take control of her body, but her laboured breathing had all three elven companions worried. After the encounters with the Nazgul, it was not the incredible feeling of dread and impending doom that affected her the most. Forces of darkness were using that trick too much for their own sake, and even her weak human's soul could resist this after the hardships of her past.
But she was claustrophobic. If no elf was truly happy about digging themselves underground, none of them could realise what Frances was going through.
Moria mines had for sure been an ordeal, but their grandeur had nothing to do with the small tunnel they were now following, their sides sometimes touching with the rocky walls as the path narrowed. At this stage of closeness the young lady was far beyond panic, reaching the point of no return when her mind would shut down and her body surrender. A merciless war was now raging to repel the phobia further away, each step taking her an amount of energy quickly draining. Soon enough though, she knew that she would lose. The only question was when. When would they have to abandon her?
"Is your leg holding up?" whispered Elrohir, a few paces behind her.
Frances swallowed hard. She needed to answer this without trembling in fear.
"Yes. Thank you for that"
Elrohir fell silent. Behind them, voices could be heard. Voices that talked in a long forgotten language. The elf exchanged a worried look with his twin before heading forward again.
Frances' hands trembled around her walking stick. The characteristic scent of a horse in front of her kept her focused, her mind concentrating on its presence and the quiet noise of the hooves on the rocks. As long as Arod could go, so could she? Repeating every rational reason she had not to panic, Frances realised how tight the tunnels seemed to become, and without thinking she accelerated and reached for the horse's back for reassurance. The thick layer of hairs slid under her fingers, and she started to gently stoke the stallion. A glowing figure was leading the mount upfront, marching tall and proud in the depth of the earth, but the light the elf emitted was weaker than usual. Legolas also hated being underground, and she remembered how his glow had become unnoticeable after five days in Moria.
Feeling her presence closer to his, Legolas fell a bit backwards to match her position, letting his hand slide gently along the horse's head to keep him moving. His resolution held still; he was not closing the distance between them, merely making sure that she would be well. Behind her, the twins were whispering in elvish, too enthralled by the presence of the dead to take care of the young lady.
Her growing panic worried him; he heard her shuddering heart in the silence. The elf himself did not feel at ease underground, and the deathly atmosphere in which they evolved did not really help either. Still he was surprised at the strength of her reaction; Frances was no mere maiden. The mines had been carrying an equally distressing spirit with dwarven cadavres and silent halls, yet the young woman's courage had never faltered. When his hand came in contact with cold skin, the elf refrained from pulling away. Probably that she had placed her hand thus in order to help her footing in this treacherous march.
Turning to his left, he saw the young lady's eyes widen in surprise. His enhanced sight allowed him to detail her stunned expression at the unexpected contact, even in the gloom of the tunnel. She obviously did not know how to react, her hesitation speaking of the many worries that plagued her. Some time ago she would have shied away from his hand, especially now that he had made his need for distance clear – she'd left him alone, catching his hints.
But the look of terror on her face said otherwise and the expression in her eyes was so frightened that he felt like reaching further. Then something unexpected happened. Her breathing seemed to slow down, and her features relaxed just a bit. His presence soothed her.
As Frances's hand brushed Legolas's warm skin, she could not find the courage to remove it from its spot. The contact eased her mind nearly as much as the worried frown he was giving her. Still, it was awkward to take advantage of him this way. A resolved look passed on her face as she decided to retreat. Without averting his eyes from her face, Legolas' warm hand caught her fingers in a swift but extremely gentle move, and he cautiously placed them on the stallion.
Then he smiled to her, and Frances' felt her knees buckle. His smile was so genuine that it nearly hurt not to be able to do the same, and his deep blue orbs were sending her into an ocean of reassurance. Panic slowly receded from her constricted chest. The elf's presence and gentle touch were now enough to keep her walking in the gloom, and she would have followed his glowing form to the end of the world if need it be.
The twins exchanged a side glance as Frances and Legolas' hands locked together; their sister's gift of foresight proved true. For the second time in the third age, love had blossomed between Edain and Eldar. What they might make of it was their decision alone; bittersweet either way. As brothers of a sibling who had forsaken immortality, they knew the burden of such relationships. They were paying for it already. And from the looks of the exchange between Frances and Legolas, the pair was not ready to act upon it either.
Soon enough the little group came across a larger tunnel, and as they progressed alongside the uneven ground the noise of hooves turned into sharp crunches. The elf's keen sight caught a glimpse at the bones covering the floor.
"Frances. Do not look at your feet," whispered Legolas.
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