Nepenthe [Legolas]

29

The road to Dimholt expanded, past the confines of the slender passage, it gave way into a valley of soaring rock.

Viridis noted the lack of color as he went, guiding his horse forward with Legolas behind him. Plant nor leaf existed here in numbers, and the few that did had shriveled so as to further get away from their surroundings, curling up in on themselves so that it looked no better than the environment from which it came.

"What kind of army would linger in such a place?" Gimli asked when Aragorn had explained the purpose of their visit: to recruit an army made accessible only through the blade of kings gifted to the man by Lord Elrond.

Viridis guided the horse's reigns as they traded endless grey valleys for a narrower passage encompassed by stone.

"One that is cursed," Legolas explained. "Long ago, the Men of the Mountains swore an oath to the last king of Gondor. To come to his aid, to fight. But when the time came, when Gondor's need was dire, they fled. Vanishing into the darkness of the mountain. And so Isildur cursed them, never to rest until they had fulfilled their pledge."

The story was a bleak one, yet befitting for their cause. It seemed only right that they should pursue it though everything in their path would try to stop them.

The sunlight seemed to drain from the sky as the rocks closed in around them, bearing down on them so but only a narrow gap in the sky remained.

"The very warmth of my blood seems stolen away," Gimli whispered as they dismounted their horses, venturing forward round a stone archway that acted as a door.

Legolas read from a series of symbols atop the doorway. "The way is shut. It was made by those who are dead. And the dead keep it. The way is shut." His brows furrowed as he read and, as if reciting them issued an ancient warning, a plume of fog tumbled from the mouth of a smaller passage just off to the side.

 A sudden gust of wind then where there had been none previously. 

It swept Viridis' hair from off his shoulders, found his cloak and entangled itself with it. A cry emanated from the passage, a shout, a warning, a threat. Whatever it was it was meant to cast them away, to instill fear so deep into the visitors beings that they had no other thoughts than retreat retreat retreat.

Viridis felt his arm jostle and the reigns he'd been holding in his hand gave a tight tug upward as his horse reared back, crying out and shifting until Viridis lost his grip. He watched as the horse retreated, leaning them without another look back.

Aragorn called out after his own horse but it was too far away by the time he did. "Brego!"

They had been stranded. Viridis just clenched his jaw and held his ground resolutely.

"I do not fear death," Aragorn said determinedly, offering not a second longer show of doubt before he was making his way forward, disappearing behind the fog and the dark as he walked past the walls of skulls embedded in stone and into the passage.

Viridis followed, finding no further incentive to turn away but, then again, he was finding fewer and fewer excuses to avoid these situations and more and more reasons to pursue them. Call it worrying, Viridis was just glad he could finally walk into a pitch-black hall without qualms.

Legolas passed him as he slowed. The Elf waited a moment for the Dwarf before turning back to the mouth of the entrance.

Gimli remained outside, muttering under his breath, feet shifting beneath him as he contemplated. To stay or to go.

Viridis hung by the entrance and folded his arms, leading against the rock.

"Get in the cave, Gimli." He said thinly, eyes dancing despite the lack of sun. Gimli would have gone and said that the Elf was immensely enjoying this. He would not have been wrong.