THE LOST NOT FORGOTTEN by Jessie Syring
The Golden Hall of Meduseld shook with noise that echoed across the very plains. Shouts, laughter, and singing erupted from the building as the sun set over the Plains of Rohan and the city of Edoras. They had survived the impossible battle at Helm's Deep. Moreso, they had won. The dark forces of Sauroman had been defeated. While the cost had been great, the victory was no hollow one.
Theoden, king of Rohan, smiled as he walked among the victorious soldiers in the Hall, pausing to share a celebratory drink or accept a slap on the back. Tonight, rank and station had been put aside. Tonight, only victory and life mattered. And those were being celebrated in the style of the horsemen of Rohan.
Most of the Rohirrim were celebrating in usual fashion, drinking and comparing battle tales. Joining in with them was Gimli, the Dwarf who had arrived with Aragorn and Gandalf just days ago. Yellowish foam stuck to the Dwarf's beard as he downed a foaming mug of ale in what seemed like one big swallow. Merry and Pippin, the two Halflings, had climbed up on a table and were dancing around, singing a rowdy drinking song about a place called the Green Dragon. With a flourish, they clinked their mugs together and gulped at the ale within to the rowdy cheers of the watching men.
He saw a shorter figure with long blonde hair moving in and out of the crowd. His niece, Eowyn, he realized with a slight smile, doing what she saw as her duty by seeing to the needs of the men. As he watched, she stopped near the tall, dark-haired figure of Gondor's uncrowned king and presented him with a cup and a shy smile. Aragorn took the cup and saluted her with it before drinking. It was a match he approved of and would approach Aragorn on the topic if they survived this war.
Aragorn had been the driving force they needed over the past few weeks, rallying the Rohirrim and leading the defense of Helm's Deep. When the Deeping Wall was breached, he had fought like a mountain cat to stop the Uruk-Hai from taking the keep. Gimli had stayed right with him, willing to sacrifice himself for his friends and what he believed. The two had bravely held the causeway, a nearly suicidal mission, while the battered gates were reinforced. Their rescue had come at the hands of another.
Theoden found Gandalf near the great hall's fire pit, easily located because of his long white robes. A wisp of smoke rose from his long-stemmed pipe. Beside him sat Legolas, quietly observing the celebration. The young-looking Elf and the ancient man were a study in contrasts. But, then, an Elf would seem out of place among any but their own kind.
Theoden had scorned Elves much of his life, thought them haughty and contemptuous of the mortal race of Men. Even when two hundred Elven archers showed up at Helm's deep, his initial reaction had been disdain--haughty Elves in their brightly shining golden armor and carrying colorful banners there to defend the helpless humans. But their leader, Haldir, said they were there to honor old allegiances and Theoden had been too hard pressed for aid to question the Elves' involvement in a battle that was not theirs.
The Elves had fought bravely, holding the walls and standing their ground as the Uruk-Hai rushed through the broken wall, dying as their positions were overrun. Selling their lives dearly. The golden-haired Elf beside Gandalf had worn no armor save for his archer's bracers and a borrowed pair of leather pauldrons to protect his shoulders and upper arms as he fought alongside the humans and Haldir's troops. Still, he was the only Elf to survive the battle in the Hornberg, and the only of all to emerge unscathed.
Legolas leaned over and appeared to say something to Gandalf, who nodded. The Elf rose gracefully and wove his way through the crowd until he reached the doors and slipped outside. Curious, Theoden made to follow but bumped into Eowyn. The young woman was slightly flushed and her eyes shown with excitement. Glancing over her shoulder, Theoden could see why---Aragorn was moving away, talking to another rider.
"He's a good man," Theoden told her, smiling. "I am happy for you."
Several long minutes passed before he was able to make his own way out of the hall. The fresh air nearly overwhelmed the king after the smells of horse, sweaty bodies, and ale in the hall. He took a few deep breaths to clear his head and lungs, then looked around.
From the vantage point of Meduseld's porch, he had a commanding view of the realm of Rohan, stretching across the river plains and to the mountains. A nearly-full moon was rising above the horizon, lighting up the city and plains with its pale light. Nothing moved, in the city or beyond the walls, and that gave him a feeling of peace. He had heard Gandalf's warning, that the war for Middle Earth was just beginning, but that didn't concern him. For tonight, the war was far away.
Legolas stood at the end of the porch, wrapped in his green-grey cloak and as still as a statue. He seemed unaware of his surroundings. Theoden hadn't spoken much to Legolas. Where Gimli spoke his mind when it pleased him, Legolas preferred to stay in the background and follow Aragorn's lead. Theoden walked to him and Legolas looked up. His expression shocked the king. Legolas' forehead was deeply creased and his eyes troubled. He looked more lost than he had when Aragorn had gone over the cliff fighting the wargs at the Gap of Rohan.
"Is everything all right, Master Elf?" Theoden asked gently.
Legolas bowed slightly in Elvish fashion, hand to chest and lowering his head. "Forgive me, your majesty. I needed a breath of fresh air."
"There's no formality in Rohan tonight," said Theoden. Legolas didn't answer, just turned his gaze back to the plains. "The hall gets crowded and close when we grieve."
"Your way of grieving is...very strange to me."
Theoden nodded in understanding as he stood beside Legolas. After several moments of silence, Theoden said, "Rohan must be a strange place to you, Legolas. We have no trees on our plains. And we are crude and uncivilized by the standards of your people."
"The people of Rohan are noble and worthy of courage, as is their king," Legolas said. "I was honored to fight for them. As were my kinsmen." He took a deep breath and turned so Theoden could not see his face. "Too many died."
Theoden hesitated, then put a comforting hand on the Elf's shoulder. He could feel Legolas trembling slightly. "The sacrifice of Haldir and the Elves of Lothlorien will not be forgotten by the people of Rohan. We are forever in their debt. And yours."
"Had my aim been more sure, we would have held the wall."
Ah, thought Theoden, there is the crux of the problem. "Legolas, I did not witness the events before the explosion but have heard the tale many times, both that night and many times since. You hit the Uruk-Hai twice, both times true shots."
"Not true enough." The words were oddly strained. "I failed you. And your people."
Theoden grasped Legolas by the shoulders and turned him around. Legolas turned his head away, but not before Theoden saw a lone tear slip down his fair cheek. "Legolas, look at me," he said, putting just enough command in his tone for the distraught Elf to obey. "Had you killed him, there would have been more to take his place. Orcs as a lot and Uruk-Hai specifically are too single-minded to be put off by a single set-back. Yes, many people died when they breached the Deeping Wall. But more would have died had you not been there, fighting with blade and bow."
Legolas looked at Theoden then, his blue eyes clear as he searched the man's face. Theoden knew lines of grief marred his own features---many years would pass before Rohan fully recovered her losses. But they had survived. And that was all that mattered. He could only hope he had imparted that knowledge to the grieving Legolas.
"Your friends have been entertaining us with song and dance from the Shire. I think we are ready to learn more about Elves. Perhaps even learn something about how you grieve." Clasping Legolas on the shoulder one last time, Theoden turned to return to the hall.
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Aragorn made his way around the hall, sharing the camaraderie of the Rohirrim as he made his way toward Legolas. Among the Rohirrim, Legolas looked lost and forlorn, a stranger in a strange place. In the chaotic days since the battle, he had hardly had time to speak to his oldest friend and knew the death of Haldir and the Lady Galadriel's warriors weighed heavily on the Mirkwood Elf. Legolas had put himself into every task he took on to help bury the dead and protect the people on their return to Edoras. While men were sagging with exhaustion, he always seemed to find more energy. He would not have taken time to grieve for the fallen and, to an Elf, grief could often prove fatal.
To Aragorn's utter embarrassment, the Riders of Rohan proclaimed him the hero of Helm's Deep as soon as they reached the city and each wanted to share a story with him. He had not had a chance to take Legolas aside and share his grief in some quiet place, away from strangers. When he finally had a few moments, the Elf was gone. Legolas returned shortly, though, still keeping to himself but no longer seeming so sad to Aragorn's eye.
The he heard a faint sound over the voices nearest him and turned, searching. The sound was musical, somehow both beautiful and sad. Legolas stood by the fire, surrounded by Rohirrim who had fallen silent so they might hear his song. Gimli sat nearby, his lit pipe all but forgotten as he stared at the Elf in wonder. King Theoden moved closer, arms folded and nodding slightly, a sad smile on his handsome face. Slowly, silence spread through the hall as the haunting melody and words carried, spreading both sorrow and hope.
Many songs and tales would be told of the War of the Ring, Aragorn thought. But none in Rohan would forget the lament Legolas sang for the men and Elves who fell at Helm's Deep.
END