Warning: I am hereby raising the rating to T. This chapter includes blood and character death. -laughs evilly- I won't say who…
A/N: Thanks to the following reviewers who brighten my life with their inspiring reviews:
Peregrin Ionad, Mini Librarian, trecebo, Queen Su, FireChildSlytherin5, Calenlass Greenleaf1, lacey, Jimmy Candlestick, Inwe Nolatari, aisarikka, Calathiel of Mirkwood, SeventhSpanishAngel, Itar94, Dearborn, szepilona10, Jiko Hitasura, Spirit HellFire, MakruTree, Aya-Shoru, knighted lioness, Kimsa Ki-Lurria, Grace, Starset, fluffys-sidekick, JackGirl, The Halfling of the Shire, artistic sprite, BrokenAvenger21, r2d2cool, Equestriad, and King Caspian the Seafarer.
Thank you so much, everyone! -hugs-
Well… I just have one last thing to say: I am extremely nervous about this chapter. I dearly hope you all like it! – Ila
Chapter Eight: Fallen
A few hours after the Witch had left, the brightness of the day gave way to the dusk of eventide. Torches were lit around the camp, the flames dancing their savage dance, as the preparations for the morrow's battle continued. The afternoon breeze had died away to stillness, and the crickets and nightingales sang in the forest, their songs rudely back-dropped by the noise of camp.
Peter, Oreius, and Aslan stood over a map on a low table, discussing the chosen battle ground and tactics. Despite Peter's lack of familiarity in such matters, Aslan and Oreius let him lead the conversation and make the final plans, adding only their advice and opinions. Legolas stood a short way behind them, listening carefully while remaining silent. Besides the Battle of the Five Armies, he had little experience in open air battles, as the wood elves preferred to fight under the protection of the trees.
Aslan turned to him abruptly. "Legolas, you have much skill in fighting and leading troops – do you have anything to want to add?"
Slightly surprised, Legolas nodded and stepped up to the table. Laying a slim finger on the map, he pointed to the cliffs above the battlefield. "You say you wish to place the archers here, so they can provide cover in case of a retreat. However, placing them there is only necessary if you are going to make a charge and leave them unprotected. Having them on the battlefield provides you with a great advantage, though you would be deprived of cover if the need to retreat arose."
"I am planning on a charge," Peter answered.
Legolas winced slightly. "Charges may be glorious to hear told in songs and tales, but if one is charging an enemy more numerous than oneself, one is at a serious disadvantage, especially when the troops lack in training."
Oreius snorted. "Everyone in this army is skilled in the weapon of their choice."
"They are skilled, yes," Legolas answered, "but they are not disciplined. Can they march, hold a line, perform maneuvers as one? No, they cannot. I would pull the centaurs off the sides and have the fauns, armed with spears and shields, form a front fifteen deep. Behind them, I would place the archers and the rest of the army. Let Jadis take the offensive charge, while you remain steady. Your archers will thin their ranks as they approach, and the scattered troops will break upon your living wall. The archers will cease their fire, and the centaurs will charge across the field before the fauns, holding a tight formation. When they break from the other side of the enemy, they will turn and charge back. In this way, you can defeat an enemy many times your size."
Peter shook his head. "We must charge and take the offensive," he argued. "The Narnians have suffered under the Witch too long – we will not merely let her attack us. We will attack her. The troops are eager for retaliation and will charge whether we order them to or not."
"I have offered my words freely," Legolas said. "Whether or not you heed them is your decision." He turned to go so they might decide without his presence, but Peter's voice stopped him.
"You never mentioned you were a prince, Legolas." The boy leaned on the table, his blue eyes focusing on the elf thoughtfully. "Why did you tell the Witch and not us?"
"I did not tell Jadis my title," Legolas replied. "How she knows it is a long story that is best left for a better time. However, I did not tell you because it was not relevant. I have no desire to be treated with the burdensome formality of royalty." He laughed slightly at Peter's bemused expression. "Trust me, getting treated as a prince or king will grow wearisome." He nodded a farewell. "I will leave you, now, to your decision."
He walked towards the woods, intent on quieting his mind with the beauty of nature and its tranquil stillness. The suffocating feeling of despair he had felt earlier, when the Witch had left, never subsided but instead grew heavier and more acute. He needed to escape the camp and the others, to spend time alone and just breathe.
He sighed quietly and leaned against a tree, trying to sort out the thoughts in his mind. The coming battle concerned him, for the scouts had brought in reports that fell creatures were flocking to the Witch in great numbers. Numbers did not normally concern him, but when one was commanding elves, one did not have to worry about lack of discipline.
He sensed a soft presence step up to his side, and he glanced over as Aslan sat down beside him.
"Child of the stars, why are you troubled?" the Lion asked.
"Clouds gather and conceal the stars," Legolas answered, glancing up at the sky. "I am troubled, as you are troubled." He unconsciously dropped his hand onto the golden mane and gently stroked it, feeling the course hair between his fingers. "Aslan," he asked, turning towards the Lion, his eyes anxious, "why are you troubled? Does it have to do with however you convinced Jadis to renounce her claim on Edmund?"
"Jadis renounced her claim," Aslan replied, his voice subdued. "There is no need for you to fear for Edmund any longer. I did all I could to save him, and she is satisfied."
For a long moment, there was quiet. Legolas stared up at the unfamiliar stars, wondering at the Lion's words. "How did you appease her?" he asked finally.
"Be still, my son," Aslan said. "All will be revealed in time. Until then, have patience, and trust in me." He sighed softy and glanced at the elf. "Show me your knives, Legolas."
Though puzzled, Legolas drew them and held them before the Lion. Aslan breathed on them, his breath fogging the gleaming blades, before looking back up at the elf.
"For many years, you have wielded these knives for your king and father with great courage. Now, wield these for Me as a pure vessel, untouched by hate and desire for vengeance." His sad golden eyes locked with Legolas' uncertain blue ones. "Use these as My blades – the blades of Eru."
A frown creased Legolas' brow as he struggled to decipher the Lion's words. "Will you not be at the battle?"
Aslan smiled sadly. "Perhaps." He stood and stretched, raking his long front claws on the dirt. "Do not stray too far from camp tonight. There may be enemies about."
"I will be fine," Legolas replied. He watched as the Lion walked slowly away, confused even more by the perplexing conversation. And the feeling of dread… it pressed down upon him even heavier than before. Shaking his head, he turned and strode off deeper into the forest.
Sleep would not come to him this night.
o-0-o-0-o-0-o-0-o-0-o
The lone howl of a wolf echoed up to the full moon, and Legolas started, glancing towards the south. The howl reached his ears once more, eerily resonating in the still darkness, and the elf pushed himself to his feet, wondering what the wolves were doing so far south of the camp.
Briefly setting a calming hand on the uneasy tree beside him, he quickly strung his bow and set off into the forest towards the sound. As he progressed, the more agitated the trees became, groaning and swaying in an invisible wind. A heavy feeling soaked the atmosphere, giving it the feeling of air just before a midsummer storm.
The feeling of desperate despair pressed upon the elf's soul until it grew to be almost a physical pain. He paused his silent advance, a frown of confusion and anguish clouding his brow, as he reached up and touched his chest. How acutely he felt this pain almost frightened him. He drew a deep breath, attempting to relax his tense frame, before continuing on.
The soft pattering of running feet interrupted the abnormal quiet of the woods, and he swung himself into a low tree branch, arrow notched in the bow. Two wolves ran into a clearing below, their dark coats making them almost invisible in the shadowy forest. They passed beneath him and stopped abruptly – one sat and panted while the other sniffed the ground and let out a low, frustrated growl.
"I'm sure I smelled something," the second said, lifting his nose from the forest floor and taking a whiff of the air. "But now it is gone."
Legolas cursed himself silently for carelessly not paying attention to the direction of the wind. Such a negligent mistake was unlike him. The strange feeling which bothered him must have affected him worse than he thought. He drew back his bow string, the sharp tip of the arrow head following the pacing of the wolf below.
The first wolf cocked its head lazily. "It was probably your imagination – you're just hungry. Now, you've made us run all this way for nothing when we could be back at the Table. It's not every day that one's biggest enemy hands himself to you on a silver platter, and we're out here looking for figments of your imagination."
"Do be quiet," the first snapped back. "I did not ask for your input." The other wolf grumbled, but he ignored it, circling the area and diligently searching for the object of his attention.
The first wolf stretched and padded mindlessly after him. "I wonder what lion tastes like."
The second sneered, shooting an annoyed look over his shoulder. "It's not like you will taste it. Shut up."
Legolas frowned, puzzling their words in his mind. Table, enemy hands himself over, lion… And suddenly, Jadis' renouncement, Aslan's despair, his own anxiety, and the wolves' words, all made a strange, horrible sense.
"There is no need for you to fear for Edmund any longer. I did all I could to save him, and she is satisfied." Aslan's words rang in his mind, and a gasp escaped him as the last piece fell into place.
The second wolf's head snapped around and, with a feral snarl, he flung himself at the tree. With a yelp of pain, he fell short, an arrow lodged in his throat. The first wolf ran for the trees in panic, but the bow sang again, dropping him to the ground.
Legolas sprang down from the branch and blindly ran the direction the wolves had come, not even bothering to retrieve his arrows. His heart pounded with fear and confusion, and he silently begged for his conclusion to be wrong. The flickering light of torches shone through the woods before him, and he exited the trees, his breath catching in his throat.
A large assembly of fell creatures was gathered before him, encircling a stone table. Jadis, dressed in black, stood on the stone, her expression triumphant and a dagger clasped in her hands. A sense of evil and wicked intent, almost alive in its fullness, hung over the gathering, almost suffocating a single drop of light.
Aslan…
The noble Lion made his way slowly up towards the table, and the creatures parted before him, fear on their faces even while they jeered and screeched. Aslan paused, and a slight sneer chased its way across the Witch's face.
"Behold." Her voice dripped with mocking scorn. "The great Lion." Her minions laughed and hooted, taunting their victim.
The minotaur general strode forward, battle axe in hand, and stopped beside the Lion, jabbing him lightly in the neck with the hilt of the axe. The noisy mob stirred restlessly, anticipating what was to come.
Aslan snarled softly but made no move to defend himself.
The minotaur looked back at Jadis, who gave him a minute nod. Turning swiftly back towards the Lion, he grabbed both ends of his axe hilt and smashed the shaft into the side of Aslan's head, knocking him to the ground.
Aslan's growl of pain mixed with a cry of anger, and a dark arrow slammed into the minotaur's shoulder, causing the creature to stagger backwards.
Legolas stood at the fringe of the crowd, eyes flashing with a dangerous, desperate light, with a second arrow in the string and aimed at Jadis' heart. The crowd fell silent, and all turned to face the elf, angry at their 'play' being interrupted.
Jadis merely smiled, unperturbed by the elvish arrow pointed her way. "Legolas, dear, I thought you might join us. Now, will you come watch, or are you intent on stopping me and destroying this world?"
"Perhaps," Legolas returned through clenched teeth, "I'm only intent on killing you." The bow string twanged as the arrow was released.
Jadis smirked. Leaning slightly to the side, she brought up the dagger in a smooth motion, batting the arrow gracefully away. She straightened, turning her black gaze back on the elf.
"Are you quite finished, Thranduilion?" she asked. "Or will you waste your entire quiver on me?"
Legolas hesitated, his eyes tormented and torn with indecision, and glanced at Aslan. The Lion had made no move to rise but remained where He had fallen. However, He turned his gaze on the elf, his golden eyes sorrowful.
"My child," Aslan's voice rang in Legolas' mind, "do you not trust me?"
Legolas stepped back, stricken. "I cannot lose You," was his desperate reply. He dropped his eyes, unable to stand the Lion's searching look, and glanced up at Jadis. "Let Him go – take me instead."
She laughed. "Oh, so self-sacrificing! A delightful offer to be sure, princeling, but I'm afraid I must refuse. As much as I long to feel your blood on my hands and watch your life drain away, I desire to see the same of the Lion even more." Her lips turned upwards cruelly. "Besides, why should I trade, when you are both in my power as well." She flicked her hand at the fell creatures around the elf. "Take him."
The creatures surged forward confidently, but Legolas held his ground, firing off five arrows in as many seconds. Seeing the death of their comrades only enraged the attackers, and Legolas unstrung his bow in a single movement and slid it into his quiver.
Grasping his knives, he knocked aside the first unlucky creature's sword, stabbing it with his second knife. Ducking another swing, he slashed a knife across a minotaur's stomach while blocking a blow with the other. He tried to forced himself to stop thinking and let his muscles take over, perform the positions ingrained in them, but his anger refused to die, edging his moves with recklessness. Blocking a hard frontal blow with the flat of one blade, he stabbed blindly behind him with the second, feeling it strike flesh.
Abruptly, something pricked his neck, and dizziness slammed into him with force. He staggered and dropped one of the knives, swinging a wide arch with the other to keep the creatures at bay as he felt his neck. A small dart was imbedded in his skin, and he jerked it out and threw it in the face of an ogre. The dart, no more than an inch in length, struck the being in the cheek, and it fell limply down, clearly unconscious.
Lightheadedness hit him again, the world spun, and he fell to his knees, lashing out and downing another enemy. His head pounded viciously, and he was only dimly aware that the creatures had pulled back and watched him silently out of range of his knives.
Bitterness, anger, and defeat mixed into a confused mélange within him. Bitterness at his helplessness, anger at the cruelty and mockery of Jadis, and defeat, for he had failed Aslan, himself, and Narnia. The last thought surprised him. Since when had he cared about Narnia or its people? The answer came easily: Since they gave their lives for him, saved him from the Witch's camp, welcomed him into their world, and treated him as a friend. And now he was letting their leader and only hope for victory become a victim of Jadis' bloodlust.
This is not your fault, something within him whispered. This was Aslan's choice. Do not take the weight of another's decisions onto your shoulders.
He wished to deny the truth of that voice, claim that it should be him dying for Edmund, not Aslan, not Eru Ilúvatar. What would happen when the Creator of worlds died? He shuddered at the thought.
Hands grabbed his arms, twisting them behind his back and jerking him to his feet. He sagged between the minotaurs who held him up, the dart's toxins causing an unnatural lethargy to course through his frame.
They drug him somewhere – his eyes refused to focus. Everything swam before him, and the shadows and flames seemed to swirl together in mystifying patterns. His mind seemed to shut down, drifting aimlessly in a semi-conscious daze.
o-0-o-0-o-0-o-0-o-0-o
Cold, yet gentle fingers raised his chin, and a chill rushed through him, sweeping the sluggishness away. He blinked to find himself staring into a pair of malicious green eyes. He jerked backwards, startled, only to be stopped by the minotaurs' powerful grips on his arms.
Jadis laughed softly. "Fully awake now? Good." Her lips twisted into a sneer. "You are just in time to watch your beloved Lion die."
Legolas glanced at the Stone Table and bit the inside of his lip to hold in the utter fury which coursed through him. Aslan lay on his side on the table's hard surface, his muzzle and paws bound tightly with thick, coarse, black rope. His magnificent mane was gone, cut away, with only jagged, bloody strands remaining.
"Valar curse you," Legolas said, his voice low but deadly.
Jadis smiled frostily. "If I can kill Aslan, why should I fear the Valar?" She turned her back on Legolas and strode back up the steps to the table, stopping to tower over the prone form of the Lion. The crowd of creatures swayed with excitement, screaming for the Lion's blood.
The Witch threw out her arm, and the clamor abruptly morphed into an unnatural calm.. A hag abruptly squawked and tapped the end of its staff against the ground. The other hags joined the first, rhythmically banging the ends of their staffs on the stone.
Jadis let her hand fall slowly to her side, and a din rose from the assembly once more. Various creatures screeched, shouted, and banged their weapons on the ground as the wolves howled upwards at the full moon which, untarnished by the evil below, cut its path of light through the darkness.
Legolas bristled as Jadis knelt by Aslan's side and ran her hand through what little remained of His mane, her apparently tender touch mocking and abhorrent. Aslan seemed to flinch but did not try to struggle against her tainted hand.
"You know, Aslan," her words were soft and almost indiscernible over the racket of the gathering, but Legolas heard each one with painful clarity, "I'm a little disappointed in you. Did you honestly think that by all this you could save the human traitor? You are giving me your life and saving no one." She chuckled, a sneer forming on her face. "So much for love."
She pushed herself to her feet and turned to the crowd. "Tonight," she said, "the Deep Magic will be appeased!"
The creatures cheered and screamed their approval, and the hags increased the tempo of their tapping.
"But tomorrow," she cried, a wicked smile of excitement playing on her lips, "we shall take Narnia forever!"
Though already loud, the din of the spectators increased tenfold, echoing about the clearing and shaking the trees to their very roots. Legolas strained briefly and vainly against the minotaurs' hold, his heart aching with dread at what was to come. Oh, for a bow, arrow, and free hands, that he might plant a shaft in that heart of evil. But that was not to be.
Jadis turned her attention back to Aslan, her eyes dilated with an insatiable lust for blood. "In that knowledge, despair…" she let the sentence hang, relishing her moment of power before lifting the dagger. "And die!"
She plunged the dagger downward, sinking it deeply into the Lion's side. The blade easily pierced through flesh and bone before lodging itself securely in His heart. A small spasm s lan's body, His eyes widening with agony before glassing over and sinking closed.
Legolas ceased his useless struggles as the Lion exhaled His last breath, his mind and heart rebelling and screaming in denial of the scene before him. But he knew and forced himself to believe the truth. It was over. Aslan – Eru Ilúvatar, the Creator of Middle-earth – was dead.
The fury and despair died from his face, leaving blank nothingness in their wake. The light in his eyes vanished, replaced by an unmerciful coldness, and the cries of disbelief and horror silenced themselves in his mind to be supplanted by a burning hatred.
Jadis ran her eyes over the Lion's motionless form before looking back up at her minions. "The Great Cat is dead!" she shouted, throwing out her hands in exultation. As the group screamed with excitement and twisted ecstasy, she closed her eyes for a brief moment, as though relieved that the deed was done. She glanced at a minotaur. "General, prepare your troops for battle." She sent a distasteful look at the lifeless body beneath her and muttered, "However short it may be."
With a swift jerk, she pulled the knife from the Lion's side and stepped down off the table before Legolas. Reaching forward, she fingered a silky strand of his hair. "It really is a pity to end it here, like this."
He refused to degrade himself by cringing from her touch but stared at her through icy blue eyes, hate rushing through his veins. He could see the dagger in her hands still dripping with the blood of Aslan. Her eyes shone, shining with a bloodlust which was no longer focused on the Lion but on him.
You are going to die…
He knew.
She stepped closer to him, her breath warm on his cheek. "If only I had more time. Killing you like this is so…dull."
He flinched.
The side of her mouth curved up in a sardonic smile, and her hand flicked in a flash of black.
Cold, unfeeling steel ripped into his side, and all other feelings were washed out in a flood of complete and utter anguish. He gasped and staggered, as she pushed the dagger in until the hilt pressed against his side. Pain clouded all thoughts from his mind, and his vision hazed.
Nothing was left but pain, pain, pain, and… hate.
He forced his eyes back open, meeting her gleeful green ones.
That cruel smirk still resided on her face, and she leaned in to whisper in his ear. "Yet," her mocking voice echoed in his mind, "killing you this way also holds a certain appeal." She twisted the dagger.
He jerked reflexively, a soft cry escaping him.
She released the dagger and placed her hand on his side, soaking it with his blood. "Because of your weak mercy, Oropher, the son of your son now dies," she murmured. She stepped away and flicked her hand at the creatures holding him up.
The powerful arms holding him upright released him, and he fell to his knees, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. One hand reached up and touched the dagger. His eyes glazed, and he collapsed onto the cold stone beneath him.
A foot found his chest and rolled him roughly onto his back. "Farewell, Thranduilion. I dearly hope you can find your way to the hall of Mandos from here."
He made no reply – he had none. Each reluctant breath sent stabbing pains through him; he coughed weakly and tasted blood. The warm, crimson liquid spilled from his side, darkening the stones and his tunic black. Dimly, he heard the Witch's voice and the confusing noise around him grew less. The fell army was leaving.
The night grew still, cold. He shuddered from the pain and the sudden chill. Another cough racked his frame, and he choked on the blood, moaning softly. He stopped fighting against the blade in his side and allowed his mind to wander to thoughts of home and family, as he lay quietly and waited for the inevitable.
A tentative hand brushed against his forehead, and he shied away, startled out of his dreamlike state. But the hand was not hers for it was not cold but warm and… small. He strained to open his eyes, but even that slightest movement caused fresh pain to tear through him.
"Legolas?" a voice said tearfully.
He forcing his eyes, glassy with pain and uncertainty, open to see brown eyes sparkling with moisture swim into focus before him. "Lucy?" The word, mangled but recognizable, forced itself from his lips before another coughing spasm seized him. It left him exhausted, almost too weak to draw another breath.
When he opened his eyes once more, the young girl held the cordial, which she always carried on her belt, above his lips. "This will make you well," she said, her voice quavering.
He turned his face away, letting his weary eyes slide shut. "Dagger," he forced out. "You… must… remove it."
"Susan!" Lucy's voice rose in panic.
"Shh!" the older girl's voice was composed but tremulous. "Stay calm."
He felt hands grip the hilt, and he winced. The hands disappeared. "Ú, caro… ha," he gasped, slipping into Sindarin. "Do it quickly."
The hands returned to the hilt and tightened around it once more, trembling there for an agonizing second that seemed to last forever. And in one, swift movement, the dagger was jerked free.
Legolas' body convulsed reflexively as the invading steel was ejected, and agony screamed through his mind. Whether he also cried out or not, he did not know, for he welcomed the unfeeling blackness which flowed over him, covering him with a shroud of nothingness.
o-0-o-0-o
Translations:
Ú, caro ha – No, do it
A/N: -peeks nervously out from behind a tree- There's the chapter that answers all the questions people have been asking. Well… not all the answers. Some answers you won't figure out until the next chapter – whether or not Legolas will live, for example. -smiles sadistically-
Anyway, to those reading Fateful Knowledge, I've kind of put that on an unofficial hiatus until I finish this story. Sorry about that, but I just can't split my attention between two stories and my book anymore. -grins sheepishly- I've never been too good at multitasking…
I've created a poll in my bio about future stories I'm interested in writing after I'm done with Fateful Knowledge and Blades of Eru. I have put a sequel to Blades that covers Prince Caspian as a choice just to see the response it gets. If anyone would like to vote, I'd be glad to know what people want. :-)
Anyway, thanks again to everyone who reviewed on the last chapter! Please, whether you liked this chapter or not, leave me a review with any thoughts, suggestions, or comments you may have. Thanks a ton!
Blessings! – Ila
