A/N: This chapter is going by the book, just so you know! And as a side note, for those of you who noticed, last chapter I went by the book on when Aragorn received Anduril… sorry for any confusion! Some terms you'll need to know for later on: cuirass = armor that goes on the upper body, fauld = the armor that covers the butt and thighs, bracers = armor that covers the forearm, pauldrons = armor that covers the shoulders, hauberk = the shirt of chain mail, lames = I can't really figure a way to describe them, sorry! Go read the book The Lord of the Rings: Weapons and Warfare by Chris Smith if you want full explanations! ;) Sorry about posting so late again L … school has been hell! But I really appreciate those of you who have been so patient… you guys are all the best!!! This chapter is for all of you who have hung in there! I hope it doesn't disappoint! (But don't read it too fast, because school will likely be out for summer before I get to post Chapter 10!) Again, though… THANKS for being so patient!! ^_^ If you want updates on how fast a chapter is coming along, try my bio here on ff.net! Thanks everyone!
Chapter Nine: Into the Shadow
Treebeard strode slowly around the ring of Isengard, talking while he walked; his voice a slow and steady stream of words against the stillness of the night. "All remnant of the old world will pass," he said heavily. "And in the space of years the Ents will no longer pass through these lands, or any other. Then Men will rule, Legolas of Mirkwood, and who are we to join them?"
Legolas pondered the question, thinking of everything Treebeard had just told him. The world had changed much since the beginning, and it was changing again. For many years now Legolas had watched his kindred slowly depart Middle-Earth, traveling to the western shores where the white ships were always sailing. The Elves had come to Middle-Earth long ago, but they did not belong here. The sea was calling them home.
And though Legolas could not bring himself to think of it now, a part of him knew with utter certainty that eventually he too would leave Middle-Earth. There would be no avoiding it. Galadriel had warned him of that much in her message to him; Laimea had painfully reminded him of it in Gondor.
He sighed softly, turning to look over his shoulder at the encampment behind him. He had traveled with Men for many months now, and he knew, perhaps better than any other Elf, that the time of Men was indeed approaching. Aragorn stood upon a threshold, and the race of Men would follow him in his destiny, whether it would be to destruction or to glory.
Legolas turned his eyes east, resting his far-sighted gaze on the blackened shadow that was Mordor. It was not only Men who were being put to the test in these dark days. The two Hobbits, Frodo and Sam, were up to a greater and more evil challenge, and upon the success of their mission the whole fate of Men and all other creatures of Middle-Earth now hung. If Frodo and Sam failed, there would be no dawn for Men. There would be no dawn for any in Middle-Earth.
Legolas shook his head. His place was with Men in this fight. His place was beside Aragorn, the rightful King of Gondor. He had pledged his skills to the Fellowship so long ago, and he would honor that oath no matter the circumstance, until the power of Sauron was broken or until his immortal life was claimed in battle.
He opened his mouth to tell this to Treebeard but a piercing cry cut him off. He sprang to his feet upon Treebeard's shoulder and turned his sharp gaze back toward the camp. They had traveled some distance already, but still Legolas could see the stirrings of King Theoden's men, and his heart fluttered in brief fear.
He looked down to Treebeard. "I am sorry, Old Friend, but it seems I must once again beg your leave."
"Oh?" Treebeard asked, coming to a halt and twisting his great trunk to look over his shoulder. "Is there some trouble?"
"I do not know," Legolas answered, already assessing the easiest way to climb down from the Ent. "But I must go to my companions. Forgive me for interrupting our conversation… we shall have to continue it upon our next meeting."
Treebeard nodded slowly. "Yes, yes," he rumbled. "So we shall. And perhaps then you will not be in such a hurry… these are hasty times that have come upon us now…"
"I hope you are right, my friend," Legolas said, and with that he deftly swung down to Treebeard's arm and dropped lightly to the ground. He looked back up to the Ent and bowed deeply. "Until we meet again, great Fangorn."
Treebeard returned the Elf's nod, sweeping one great limb wide in a farewell gesture. "Hooooraaaaooom! Farewell for now, my good Elf. But remember, you are older than the children you travel with… not as old as the hills to which you head, but old none the less. Be wary before you move with the minds of Men."
Legolas nodded again, backing away toward the camp, for once wishing that Ents were not so long-winded. But Treebeard stepped forward, having one more thing to say.
"Hoom! Hm! There is a reason Elves and Ents are leaving, Legolas. We are not meant for the world that is coming."
Legolas looked up to the amber eyes at the words. "Perhaps you are right, great Fangorn," the Elf admitted, "but I must do my part to ensure that the world that is coming is full of light, and not ruled by darkness."
Treebeard blinked at the statement, humming to himself, but Legolas did not wait for the Ent to comment. The Elf bowed once more. "Until we meet again," he said, and then he turned and sprinted back to the camp, a sense of urgency gnawing at the back of his mind.
*
Legolas reached the camp quickly enough, and as he drew closer he saw a group of soldiers clustered together around Gandalf. Aragorn and Gimli stood off to one side of the crowd. Legolas trotted up alongside Aragorn and halted there, looking to the man with troubled eyes. "Mani naa raika?" What is wrong? Legolas asked, only slightly out of breath from his run.
Aragorn glanced to the Elf and then nodded toward Gandalf, and some of the soldiers parted enough for Legolas to see that the wizard knelt beside Pippin. "Pippin took the stone ball from Gandalf," Aragorn said in a low voice. "He looked into it."
Legolas' brow furrowed in confusion. He turned back to Aragorn, studying the man's face, but Aragorn did not meet the Elf's gaze. "Aragorn," Legolas said softly, his unease growing, "mani naa ta?" what is it?
Aragorn clenched his jaw, but it was another long moment before his blue eyes finally lifted to meet the inquiring stare of the Elf. "I believe the stone ball is a palantir," the man whispered hoarsely. "One of the seven lost long ago at the fall of Numenor… an heirloom of my people."
Legolas blinked at the statement, his mouth dropping open to reply, but he found no words. He knew the story of the seven Seeing Stones; he knew of their uses and the dangers of using them in these times. But to think that one of them had been found after they had been lost for so long, to think one had literally been thrown down at them…and Pippin had used it, possibly revealing all of their plans to the Enemy…
Aragorn saw that Legolas understood the implications of Pippin's action and turned away, leaving the group of soldiers that had gathered. The Elf moved to follow the man but Gimli put out an arm to stop him and shook his head.
"It's all right, Legolas," Gimli spoke up. "Let him alone for awhile. No harm came to Pippin, and no harm was caused. Or so Gandalf says."
The Elf frowned after Aragorn for a second longer, but then he looked to Gandalf as the wizard lifted Pippin from the ground and carried him back to where the hobbits had made their beds for the night. Satisfied that Pippin was indeed unharmed, Legolas turned his attention back to Gimli. "But the Enemy… did he see…?"
Gimli nodded, his face grave. "The hobbit came face to face with Sauron himself, it seems. The Enemy saw him and questioned him, but Pippin revealed nothing. At least, nothing of importance. As Gandalf said, we have been strangely fortunate. Strangely…"
Legolas frowned again, still able to feel the remnants of evil radiating from the now darkened stone. He shifted on his feet anxiously, casting his gaze around the camp. The men slowly began to disperse and return to their beds. Legolas glanced back down to Gimli. "I heard a cry…?"
Gimli nodded again. "Yes. That was also Pippin. I thought he was dead when I first laid eyes upon him… stiff as a corpse, he was. But Gandalf woke him up. He seems to be recovering well enough." The Dwarf grunted. "Hobbits. Their resilience far outgrows their size."
Legolas smiled at the statement, but the smile vanished as Gandalf came back into sight. The wizard's face was grim as he stood over the stone again, looking at it almost as if expecting it to come alive.
"Peril comes in the night when least expected," Gandalf muttered. "We have had a narrow escape!"
"How is the hobbit, Pippin?" a voice asked, and Legolas spun in surprise to see that Aragorn had returned to the remaining group of soldiers. The Elf stepped out of Aragorn's way and the man moved forward to stand near Gandalf.
"I think all will be well now," Gandalf said at last. "He was not held long, and hobbits have an amazing power of recovery. The memory, or the horror of it, will probably fade quickly. Too quickly, perhaps. Will you, Aragorn, take the Orthanc-stone and guard it? It is a dangerous charge."
Legolas' eyes widened at the words. He glanced to Gimli, but the Dwarf too looked surprised. There was a brief silence, and Legolas nearly held his breath. It was a palantir, a Seeing Stone, and it belonged to Aragorn by right. But would he accept it?
"Dangerous indeed," Aragorn agreed softly, "but not to all. There is one who may claim it by right. For this assuredly is the palantir of Orthanc from the treasury of Elendil, set here by the Kings of Gondor. Now my hour draws near. I will take it."
Legolas released his breath quietly as Gandalf nodded in approval and stepped forward, bowing as he presented the covered stone to Aragorn. At last Aragorn, son of Arathorn, seemed to be accepting the role he'd been born for. He was no longer hiding from his heritage.
"Receive it, lord!" Gandalf said, "In earnest of other things that shall be given back…"
Legolas watched the passing of the Seeing Stone from Gandalf to Aragorn, but the words that were being spoken faded from his ears, and a dark presence fluttered at the back of his mind. He forgot the soldiers around him and turned his eyes sharply to the sky, searching for the presence he felt. He searched to the limits of his sight, but saw nothing. He looked around the camp again worriedly, but there was no sign of anything out of place. The Elf backed away from the group of men, still scanning the surrounding lands, his hand drifting unconsciously toward his bow.
Then the voices of the men came back to him, and he heard King Theoden speak. "I will keep Eomer and ten Riders. They shall ride with me at early day. The rest may go with Aragorn and ride as soon as they have a mind."
"As you will," said Gandalf. "But make all the speed you may to the cover of the hills, to Helm's Deep!"
No sooner had the words left Gandalf's mouth than a great shadow passed suddenly over the moon. Legolas crouched instinctively, snatching up his bow. The soldiers ducked in the moment of darkness, cowering with their arms over their heads as if to ward off a blow. Some cried out in blind terror as a monstrous winged shape flew before the moon and wheeled north, blotting out the stars. Legolas fitted an arrow to his bow with uncanny speed, but then the dark shape was gone, vanishing into the distance.
The men stood slowly, rigidly, hands on their weapons, looking around warily. But the shadow did not reappear. Gandalf sprang to life suddenly, his great voice loud in the deathly silence. "Nazgûl!" he cried. "The messenger of Mordor. The storm is coming. The Nazgûl have crossed the River! Ride, ride! Wait not for the dawn! Let not the swift wait for the slow! Ride!"
And with that he was off, calling Shadowfax as he ran. Aragorn followed him, leaving Legolas and Gimli behind. The rest of the men went immediately into motion, their fear of the passing shadow driving their haste.
Legolas put away his weapons hurriedly and looked to Gimli, who stood waiting, watching the Elf expectantly. "Come, Gimli," Legolas said, nodding his head toward where Steadyfoot had been tied. "We must ride!"
Gimli smiled beneath his beard. "Well… what are we waiting for?"
Legolas sprang away at the Dwarf's invitation, dodging through the chaotic mess of the quickly collapsing camp. Men ran in every direction; putting out fires, rolling up bed blankets, packing belongings, and saddling horses. Legolas weaved around the disorganization easily, but Gimli found it a challenge to keep up with the long-legged Elf.
By the time Gimli reached the horse Legolas already sat astride the animal, and the Elf smiled down good-naturedly at his friend. "Come, Gimli. Now is no time for dallying. What has taken you so long?"
Gimli's mouth dropped open, his eyes narrowing in a glare as he sputtered for a reply. "Why you – why I never – how dare you say…" his words faltered as Legolas held down a hand. The Dwarf eyed Legolas for a moment, realizing at last the Elf was only mocking him. Gimli let out a frustrated growl, shaking his head, and debated accepting the hand up. But another look at the distance to the horse's back made up his mind for him, and he reluctantly grasped Legolas' wrist, boosting himself off the ground as the Elf easily pulled him up.
Gimli quickly situated himself behind Legolas, and when the Dwarf had steadied his seat Legolas kicked Steadyfoot in a canter, reaching Gandalf and Aragorn just as Aragorn was setting Pippin before Gandalf on Shadowfax. The wizard glanced to the Elf and the Dwarf, and then looked back down to Aragorn. "Farewell!" he cried. "Follow fast! Away, Shadowfax!"
The great horse snorted, tossing his silver head, and sprang forward, galloping off into the night until he vanished into the distance. Aragorn turned immediately to Merry. "You must come with me now, Merry. Go and get ready. Bring anything that Pippin left behind. Make haste!"
Merry nodded, scrambling off to get his things, and Aragorn took the reins of Hasufel, looking off in the direction Gandalf had gone. The three of them were quiet for awhile, listening to the sounds of the men around them, and Merry returned shortly, carrying his light bundle of belongings. Aragorn looked down to the hobbit fondly, then raised his eyes to Legolas and Gimli, and a smile hinted at the corners of his mouth.
"So four of the Company still remain," he said quietly. His smile faded, his eyes focusing inward for a moment; remembering the day the Fellowship had first come together. They had been through so much since then… and had lost much. But the journey was not over yet. Aragorn blinked, coming out of his reverie, and brought his gaze back to the small group around him. "We shall ride on together," he said. "But we shall not go alone, as I first thought. King Theoden now wishes to set out at once. Since the coming of the Nazgûl he wishes to return to the hills under cover of night."
"Then we are to ride to Helm's Deep at once?" Gimli asked.
Aragorn nodded. "Yes. That is our road."
Legolas swallowed, thinking of the many graves and broken wall that awaited him at that place. He recalled the first night he had encountered Laimea on the wall of the Keep. "And then?" he asked Aragorn, hoping they would not linger long at the Hornburg. "Then where shall we go?"
Aragorn shook his head. "I cannot say yet," the man answered truthfully. "The King will go to the muster he commanded at Edoras four nights from now. And there, I think, he will hear tidings of war, and the Riders of Rohan will go down to Minas Tirith." Legolas' eyes sharpened at the mention of the city, but he remained silent.
"But for myself," Aragorn continued, "and any that will go with me, we may take a different route."
Legolas glanced over his shoulder to where he and Treebeard had walked and talked for all too short a time. …And who are we to join them? The Elf turned back to Aragorn resolutely.
"I will go with you, Aragorn," he said strongly.
"And I with him!" cried Gimli.
The small smile came again to Aragorn's face, though only briefly, and he nodded appreciatively. He turned to look southeast, his expression falling grim. "All is dark before me," the man whispered solemnly. "I must also go to Minas Tirith, but I do not yet see the road. An hour long prepared approaches."
Legolas followed Aragorn's gaze, remembering his visit to the White City and the woman he had left behind there only a few days before. So he would be going back. He would have the chance to speak to her again and correct his previous mistake... His heartbeat quickened at the realization, but then he quickly reprimanded himself for holding onto such hope. It is likely she has ridden south to safety by now, he thought sullenly. And even if she hasn't, she has already told me what she thinks of my kind. She has already given me a chance to speak to her again, and I refused it. I left her. She has no way to know if I will come back…she will not wait for me. Legolas sighed quietly, remembering well the look in Laimea's eyes on their last night together. He had been trying to determine what that look meant ever since Laimea had left him standing alone on the streets of Minas Tirith.
Then what is the truth, Aragorn? Legolas had once asked his friend, hoping the man could provide some insight into Laimea's behavior that he had missed. But the man's reply had been far from anything Legolas expected. I think the lady Laimea of Gondor is in love with you, my friend.
Legolas closed his mind to such thoughts abruptly and he would not let himself ponder them anymore. The fact that Laimea could possibly feel love for him was an idea the Elf could not handle at the moment. Likely they would ride to Minas Tirith for war, and there would be no time for thoughts of the woman; no time for talking to her if he did indeed find her. There would be no time for any kind of distraction.
"Don't leave me behind!" Merry blurted suddenly into the quiet, startling the other three companions and bringing Legolas back to the present. "I have not been of much use yet; but I don't want to be laid aside, like baggage to be called for when all is over. I don't think the Riders will want to be bothered with me now…" the hobbit looked over his shoulder to where the men picked up the last remainders of the camp, and such a forlorn look crossed his features that Legolas couldn't help but feel sorry for the Halfling. Pippin had gone off with Gandalf, but here Merry had been left, and in truth there was little he could contribute to this battle, no matter the willingness of his heart.
Merry turned back to Aragorn, his face brightening slightly. "But the King did say I was to sit by him when he came to his house, and then tell him all about the Shire."
"Yes," Aragorn agreed, smiling softly, "and your path lies with him, I think." The man came forward and laid a hand on Merry's shoulder. "But do not look for mirth at the ending, Merry," he continued quietly. "It will be long, I fear, before Theoden sits at ease again in Meduseld."
Merry frowned at Aragorn's brooding words, but the man looked away from the hobbit's gaze and lifted his eyes once again to the horizon, searching out the direction of Minas Tirith. "Many hopes will wither in this bitter spring," he said.
*
Soon they were riding swiftly through the night, numbering twenty-four in all, with Merry riding in front of Aragorn and Gimli seated behind Legolas. They made good time, going as quietly as they could, and yet as they rode Legolas felt every now and then that they were being followed. He turned often to look over his shoulder, until Gimli became tired of the elf's restless movements and demanded an explanation.
"What is it, Legolas?" the Dwarf asked finally. "You're as fidgety as a Dwarf who's thought he's found a vein of mithril!"
Legolas glanced back to Gimli, then shook his head. "I am sorry, Gimli. It is just that…" he twisted to look over his shoulder again, sweeping his eyes over the soldiers behind, counting them quickly, searching for any hidden movement. There was nothing out of place; only the soft footsteps of the horses in the grass, the subtle shifting of armor and chain mail, the creaking of leather saddles.
"Confound it, elf!" Gimli burst out in frustration. "If you don't come out with it right now…!"
"We are being followed," Legolas said at last, keeping his voice low. He didn't want to alarm anyone until he was sure of it.
Gimli was silent for a moment, contemplating the meaning of Legolas' words. "Perhaps it is the remainder of King Theoden's company?" the Dwarf suggested at last, but his voice betrayed even his own doubts about that idea.
Legolas frowned. "No," he said slowly, "not them…"
There was another moment of silence and then Gimli spoke again. "Well then why don't we ride back and find out who it is?"
Legolas considered the proposal, looking over to Aragorn, but the man rode beside Theoden and didn't seem to notice anything unusual. Still, the Elf hesitated to leave the Company. Gimli, however, had no reservations.
"Come on, Legolas!" he goaded. "What are you waiting for? Turn this horse around!"
Legolas began to turn Steadyfoot, but before he could move out from the group a Rider galloped past them from the rear of the line, coming to ride alongside the King.
"My Lord," the man said urgently to Theoden, "there are horsemen behind us. As we crossed the fords I thought I heard them. Now we are sure."
Legolas felt Gimli nudge him but refused to acknowledge the Dwarf. He turned all of his attention to the Rider.
"They are overtaking us," the soldier said, "and riding hard."
Theoden called a halt, and the Riders turned around to face the way they had come, catching up their spears. Aragorn dismounted, setting Merry on the ground, and drew his sword, taking up a spot next to the King. Legolas rode up beside Aragorn and let Gimli slide off before he also dismounted. The Dwarf took up his axe, the sharp edge of which gleamed a white line in the moonlight. Legolas readied an arrow, but did not raise his bow. Merry stood uncertainly for a moment, looking around at the men who stood above him. Then it seemed he came to decision, and he tightened his belt and drew his sword, facing front with determination.
Legolas kept his eyes ahead, until the moon came fully clear of a great cloud, and then the Elf saw many dark figures riding quickly on the path from the fords of Isen. The points of their spears glinted dully in the night and Legolas counted their horses. There were thirty in all. But he could not make out their features or their garb, and so he could not determine whether they were friend or foe.
They rode closer, and Legolas raised his bow, his fingers only lightly holding back the deadly strike of his arrow. He waited tensely for a command from the King. The mysterious group of riders reached some fifty paces off before Éomer called out to them, his voice clear and loud. "Halt! Halt! Who rides in Rohan?"
The pursuers brought their mounts to a stop, but all remained quiet for a long moment. There was no answering reply. Instead a lone horseman of the group dismounted and walked slowly forward, holding his palm outward in a sign of peace. But Legolas did not lower his bow. Gimli shifted on his feet, hefting his axe, and the King's men gripped their spears more tightly. The man stopped at ten paces, though none yet could see his face, and then he spoke at last.
"Rohan?" he asked. "Rohan did you say? Now that is a glad word. We come from afar, and seek that land in haste."
"And so you have found it," Éomer answered, but his voice still carried heavy suspicion of these strangers. "When you crossed the fords you entered it. But this is the realm of Theoden the King. None ride here save by his leave. Who are you? And what is your errand that needs such haste?"
"Halbarad Dúnaden, Ranger of the North I am," the man answered confidently. "We seek one Aragorn son of Arathorn, and we heard that he was in Rohan."
Legolas narrowed his eyes at the words, his hold on the bow wavering. Ranger of the North? They would be Aragorn's kin then, unless this was an evil trickery sent after them by Saruman… he steadied his hold on the arrow.
There was a brief silence as the King's men looked to each other in confusion, but then Aragorn suddenly burst out from them and ran forward to embrace the stranger. "Halbarad!" Aragorn exclaimed, greeting the man warmly. "Of all the joys this is the least expected!"
Legolas lowered his bow and put away his arrow; Aragorn's words were enough to convince him these strangers were not an evil trickery. Both Gimli and Merry exhaled a sigh of relief, sheathing their weapons.
"All is well," Aragorn said, turning around again to face the King. "These are my kin, come from my home. But why they have come, and how many, I do not know." He looked to Halbarad, and the man nodded to Aragorn.
"I have thirty with me," he said. "That is all that could be gathered in our haste. But the brethren Elladen and Elrohir have ridden with us as well. We rode as swiftly as we could when your summons came."
Legolas looked inquiringly at Aragorn, wondering how the man could have sent out word to his fellow Rangers. The Elf didn't recall Aragorn ever speaking of such a thing, nor had he ever seen Aragorn send any kind of messenger. Unless it had been done while he was still in Minas Tirith…
"But I did not summon you," Aragorn said, frowning in confusion. "I often thought of you, yet I have sent no word."
Legolas blinked, suddenly remembering Galadriel's message to Aragorn, given to them by Gandalf in Fangorn Forest:
Where now are the Dunedain, Elessar, Elessar?
Why do thy kinsfolk wander afar?
Near is the hour when the Lost should come forth,
And the Grey Company ride from the North.
But dark is the path appointed for thee:
The Dead watch the road that leads to the Sea.
Then Galadriel had seen this riding of the Grey Company from the North. She had seen even more than that, Legolas guessed, but to him the rest of her words still made little sense. Aragorn had sent no word to his kindred, but someone had. Likely it had been Galadriel herself, and Legolas silently thanked her. Clearly the arriving of the Company had brightened Aragorn's spirits, and they would need all the help they could get soon enough.
"But come," Aragorn said, unwilling to talk more in this open land, "all such matters must wait. We ride in haste and danger, Halbarad. Ride with us now, if the King will give his leave?"
Theoden nodded gladly. "Of course I will give my leave," he said. "If these kinsmen are in any way like yourself, my lord Aragorn, thirty such knights will be a strength that cannot be counted by heads."
Halbarad bowed deeply in acknowledgement, and then all who had dismounted swung aboard their horses once more, and the two companies set out together for Helm's Deep.
*
The East had turned an ashen gray by the time they reached the Deeping Coomb, and in the early dawn the stone tower of the Hornburg loomed above them like a living giant. Legolas squinted up at its height and remembered the thundering call of the Horn of Helm Hammerhand. It had nearly deafened him; its booming voice shook the very foundations of the fortress and struck sudden doubt into the hearts of their attackers.
The Elf's eyes fell next to the broken wall, now only a silhouette in the sun's new light, and he bowed his head. The horses walked quietly past the mounds of graves and Legolas closed his eyes against the sight, putting a hand to his chest and muttering a brief prayer.
All the rest of the company passed by in silence, for they were weary of their travel and wary of returning to their old battleground. Slowly they wound up the great stone ramp; the steady clip-clop of the horses' hooves was the only sound that echoed through the quiet morning. The heavily battered front gates creaked open before them, and King Theoden and his men were welcomed once again to Helm's Deep.
Weary man and beast were eager to get some rest, and Legolas arrived in the main throne room after taking care of his horse to find that most of the men had already gone to their rooms. A few were scattered about on the floor, lying on furs and wrapped in blankets. He smiled as he noticed Gimli and Merry, both already deeply asleep and snoring. But Aragorn was not among them, and with a start Legolas realized he had not seen the man for some time now.
Legolas left the throne room quickly, passing through the arched double doors into the dimly lit hallway. He hesitated there a moment, not knowing which way to go first. He heard footsteps fading away to his right and decided to follow them, quickening his pace to catch up.
He rounded the curve in the hallway and saw Aragorn ahead, walking with his kinsman Halbarad, who carried a tall staff closely wrapped in black cloth. "Aragorn!" Legolas called out, breaking into a trot to catch up to the men.
Aragorn turned around at his name, raising his eyebrows in question as the Elf approached. "Yes, Legolas?"
Legolas noticed at once the covered palantìr in Aragorn's arms and frowned at his friend. "Aragorn," he said again, "you must get some rest. We have traveled far this night, and the others are already sleeping."
Aragorn smiled at Legolas' concern and laid a hand on the Elf's shoulder. "I took rest at Isengard, Legolas," the man said quietly. "Now I must take thought, and only Halbarad shall go with me."
Legolas cast a sharp glance to Halbarad before looking to Aragorn again. "But Aragorn –"
The man lifted a hand to silence the protest and shook his head. "Do not trouble yourself over me, Legolas. There is no need for worry. This must be done."
But the Elf could easily read the strain in the man's voice. "Do not take me for a fool, my friend," Legolas whispered softly. "I know what you intend to do, and I do not think it is wise. Not yet."
Aragorn sighed deeply, and the flickering of the torches echoed loudly against the stones in the moment of silence. Halbarad looked from Elf to Man uncertainly. Aragorn met Legolas' eyes evenly. "It is my time, Legolas," he said finally.
Legolas watched Aragorn closely, searching the man's face for the truth. But at last he nodded, seeing the man would not be swayed in this matter. "Then I will go with you," he said.
But Aragorn shook his head again. "No, Legolas. You must stay here." He nodded his head toward the throne room. "Watch over the others."
"Aragorn," Legolas objected immediately, "my place is at your side. It always has been… I will not let you go alone."
A small smile lifted the corners of Aragorn's mouth and he gripped Legolas' arm appreciatively. "I will not be alone, Legolas," the man said quietly. "Halbarad shall be with me."
Legolas blinked, glancing from Halbarad to Aragorn and back again. He did not understand. Since Rivendell he had accompanied Aragorn and the others on the long journey of the Fellowship, and always he had been ready to defend them from any danger. Since the breaking of the Fellowship he had not left Aragorn's side, and for the man to be ordering him away now did not seem right. Halbarad had not endured the long, cold trek up the height of Caradhras, nor had he fought the troll in Moria, or run forty-five leagues in the pursuit of Merry and Pippin, or fought in the Battle of Helm's Deep. Yet now in this hour of trial, an hour that could prove to be his darkest, Aragorn chose Halbarad to accompany him.
Legolas dropped his eyes to the floor, unwilling to let Aragorn see how much the thought hurt him. He swallowed hard and nodded, then raised his eyes to Halbarad's and gave a slight bow. Halbarad returned it with a nod.
The Elf turned curtly to Aragorn. "Use caution, Aragorn," he warned softly, "and wisdom."
Aragorn nodded gravely, and with a last long look at his friend Legolas spun on his heel and headed back toward the throne room.
"Legolas?" Aragorn spoke up suddenly.
The Elf stopped, turning around to face the man.
"You are a dear friend to me. But Halbarad is my kin."
Legolas clenched his jaw at the words, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. He gave a nod in Aragorn's direction, then turned away wordlessly and disappeared around the curve of the hallway.
***
Laimea sat in the orchard, staring ahead into nothingness, trying not to think. She was exhausted, physically and emotionally, and sleep tugged at her weary body persistently. She had nearly drifted off when soft footsteps jolted her awake again.
She sat up straight, blinking rapidly to try and clear her head, and looked around the clearing. But she saw no one, and the footsteps paused. Laimea stood up, her hand going to rest carefully on Nimrunya's haft. The footsteps came again, ever so briefly, and Laimea whirled to face them, feeling her heartbeat quicken.
She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, but every muscle in her body was ready for action. "Anya?" she called timidly, hoping it was only her mother coming to talk to her again. But there was no answer to her call.
Laimea moved forward a few paces but hesitated to go any farther. The dead trees around her seemed to be more twisted, more frightening, as if their limbs reached out for her. Her grip on her sword tightened.
"Anya?" she called again, a little louder this time. Still she got no answer. A breeze kicked up, whistling through the trees and making the bare branches sway ominously. Another strong gust of wind followed soon after the first and Laimea had to brace herself against its force.
She closed her eyes against it, and when she opened them again she found herself no longer in her orchard but on a vast plain of battle. The ground was blackened and torn with giant rifts; sharp black rocks jutted like teeth from the edges and speared toward the smoke laden sky. She stared up in awe at the volcano erupting just leagues away; it belched black ash and red hot embers enough to hide the sun for years on end. Her ears were deafened by its rumbling and by the sounds of the battle.
Laimea pulled her eyes away from the smoking mountain and looked out over the plain. Thousands upon thousands fought there, the silver armor of the Men clashing with the black and twisted armor of the Orcs. And then she saw the Elves, splendid in their crested helmets and swirling capes, fighting among the ranks of Men. She drew in a sharp breath as she realized where she was.
Nimrunya burned in her hand and Laimea dropped the sword quickly, backing away from it as it began to glow with an inner light. She squinted against it as the light grew brighter, and then with a flash her father stood before her, holding the sword out to her in grave seriousness.
Laimea stood rigidly, unable to move. She stared at her father, whose features she had not seen for so many long years, and tried to find something – anything – to say. But no words would come to her. He smiled softly at her, and then he vanished.
Laimea cried out, reaching for him, but he was gone. She blinked, slowly realizing she looked at her bedroom wall, her hands gripping her blankets. She glanced around the room wildly, but there was no remnant of her father or the battle she had just seen seconds before.
Laimea sucked in a shuddering breath and forced herself to let it out slowly, trying to calm her racing heart. Sweat covered her body and she put a hand to her head, brushing strands of damp hair away from her face. A dream, she told herself. It was a dream, nothing more. She looked to the window and found the barest hint of dawn in the sky.
She remembered now. She had come in from the orchard not long after Anya had left, and had gone to her room in hope of some rest. At last she had given in to sleep, and then she had dreamed…
Laimea frowned, her eyes falling to rest on Nimrunya, lying in its sheath in the corner by her bed. She threw back the covers and went to the sword, unsheathing it anxiously. She held up the blade in the dim light of the window and peered at it, waiting for it to glow.
Nothing happened.
She sighed; sheathing the weapon again and laying it carefully back in place. But the dream… it had seemed so real… and why would she dream about the Battle of the Last Alliance? And her father… Laimea straightened swiftly, remembering for the first time in years the large chest Anya had brought with them when they had first come to Gondor.
Anya had always kept it locked and Laimea had never before wanted to look inside; the things in her past had been too painful to chance remembering. But now she needed to know. That chest had belonged to her father, and she could no longer wait to find out what was inside of it.
Laimea grabbed Nimrunya and left her room, heading straight for where she knew the chest would be. Anya's bedroom.
Laimea went through the kitchen, stopping at the table to light the lantern there. She waited until the flame grew steady, then picked up the lamp and tiptoed back toward Anya's room. The heavy wooden door was partially open, and Laimea peered through the crack cautiously. She had not seen Anya since the woman had left the orchard, and Laimea wondered if she had even come back to the house yet.
The bed was empty. Frowning, Laimea gently pushed the door open, wincing as it creaked on the hinges. She moved into the bedroom, still looking around for any signs of her foster mother. But the sheets on the bed were still neatly made. Laimea went to the window, looking outside to the silvery sky of dawn, but Anya was not within her sight.
Laimea sighed, giving up, knowing Anya had probably gone into the city to seek solitude after their argument. She didn't mind. It would probably be better if Anya weren't around to see what she was about to do, anyway. Laimea knelt on the floor and set the lantern down beside her, leaning over to look under the bed. She saw the chest immediately, looming like a dark shadow beneath the bed's wooden frame. It was rather large, made of a finely carved, very dark wood.
Laimea moved the lantern closer, noticing for the first time the pictures engraved on the outside of the trunk. She squinted at them, thinking the small figures looked very much like an armament of Elves ready for battle. She remembered her dream and grasped the sides of the chest with renewed determination. She pulled it out from under the bed slowly, grunting at its weight, and then sat back on her heels to study it.
The lock was heavy but very old, and Laimea reached forward to touch the partially rusted metal. She shook her head, then looked up and searched the room with her eyes for a place where Anya might keep the key. She stood, picking up the lantern, and went to the woman's wardrobe, looking through the drawers and clothes. But that search came up empty. Laimea tried feeling beneath the straw mattress and peering through the cracks of the floor planks, but still she found no key.
Frustrated, she went back to the chest and stared at it, deep in thought. Anya most likely kept the key herself, if it was not here, and Laimea did not have time to wait for the woman to return or to argue with her about the key when she did return. Laimea came to a decision finally and took Nimrunya from the floor, unsheathing the blade carefully. The sword glimmered orange in the lantern light as Laimea positioned herself to one side of the chest. She took a deep breath, raising the blade high over her head and taking careful aim at the lock.
She brought the sword down with all her might and sparks flew as metal clashed upon metal. But the lock held firm. Laimea raised the sword again, determined to get into the chest. She hacked downwards again, letting out a short cry as Nimrunya's blade jarred against the lock. She nearly lost her hold on the sword, but as she staggered to regain her balance she saw the broken lock fall to the floor. Laimea hurried back to the chest, kneeling before it and smiling in triumph. She set Nimrunya aside and turned all of her attention to the finely carved trunk.
Laimea took a deep breath, trying to slow her racing heart. She felt suddenly dizzy and had to close her eyes against it until it passed. She sat still for a long moment afterwards, breathing deeply, trying to gather her wits. At last she opened her eyes and leaned forward to grasp the sides of the lid. But then she hesitated once more.
Did she really want to open it? Did she really want to see what was inside? It had been locked up for so long… she had tried to forget for so long… Laimea bit her lip, squeezing her eyes shut. This was it. She had to decide now. If she looked inside this chest she knew there would be no turning back. She would have to face her past – and her future – and there would be no more hiding.
Laimea let out a quivering breath, one hand going down to rest lightly over the old wound on her left thigh. The wound had almost fully healed, but the spot was still tender to the touch. Laimea couldn't help but think of what would have happened to her if Legolas had not been there. She sighed heavily.
Ever since she had met Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, she had started to remember things… she had started to allow herself to remember… and it had not been so painful. Legolas' presence eased her anger toward his kind and reminded of her of all the things she had cherished about the Elves. He was the only being who had ever been able to fill the empty space inside of her. It was this realization that finally convinced Laimea she would never be able to live a whole life unless she acknowledged both sides of her heritage.
She had accepted her human side easily enough, but as for her Elvish side… Laimea set her jaw and threw open the lid of the chest impulsively, not giving herself time to rethink the action. She recognized the faint smell wafting from the inside the chest immediately; a smooth scent of leaves and earth. It took her far back into her past, jarring to life memories that had long been dead. Memories of her mother and father, when they had been happy…
Laimea swallowed hard, reaching for the lantern. Her hand shook as she raised the light to shine inside the inky blackness of the trunk. Her heart pounded furiously in her temples as the light crept slowly over the contents of the chest. Laimea gasped at what she finally saw, one hand flying to her mouth, the other nearly dropping the lantern. She stared for a long while, not daring to touch anything, hardly breathing. She could only sit and think of her father, who had last used these things and then laid them away in this chest and carefully locked them up.
At last Laimea brought herself to move, and she set the lantern down gently on the floor, reaching into the chest with both trembling hands to pick up the golden crested helmet. She lifted it carefully, staring at it in awe as she turned it around in the light. It was an Elven helmet of the First Age, supremely crafted and beautiful enough to be an object of art. She traced her fingertips reverently over the swirled designs while her mind reached back to her dream. The Elves had worn these helmets… She turned it around to look at the front and saw for the first time the two small Elvish runes engraved on the nose-guard: GG. She frowned, wondering what it meant, but at last she set the helmet down next to the lantern and moved on.
Laimea next picked up a long cloak made of Elven silk so soft it felt as smooth as water to the touch. She marveled at it as she held it up; its reddish color shimmered silver and gold in the lantern flame, as if the cloak itself were threaded with light. She put it aside reluctantly, only able to take her eyes off of it in curiosity of what else the chest contained.
The third item in the chest was a cuirass attached by a few leather straps to a fauld; Laimea recognized it as a piece of First Age armor as well. She had seen its shape in paintings of the Battle of Dagorlad, the War of the Last Alliance, when she was a little girl. But to see a piece of that history for herself, and to hold it, was quite different than to see it in a painting. She studied the armor closely, thinking the interlacing lames of the breastplate were just as beautifully made as the helmet and cloak. She squinted at a small badge attached to the V of the breastplate, realizing it was a heraldic emblem. Twelve stars in a midnight blue sky… Laimea thought hard, struggling to remember the insignias of the Elves. But she could not remember. She had spent too many years trying to forget. She sighed in disappointment and added the cuirass and fauld to her growing pile next to the lantern.
The sun had come up over the horizon by the time Laimea fully emptied the chest. She sat cross-legged on the wooden floor, surrounded by the pieces of a full suit of Elvish armor. The helmet, cloak, cuirass and fauld were on her right; on her left was a neatly folded shirt of Elven silk, a long sleeved hauberk of extremely light mail, a pair of long leather gloves, a long, richly decorated skirt, a carved leather belt, and a pair of golden bracers and pauldrons that gleamed in the light. Laimea sat in the middle of it, her eyes wandering from piece to piece, but she found herself at a loss. She did not know what meaning this armor held, nor did she know how she could get any use from it. She knew only that it had once been her father's, and he had worn it during the War of the Last Alliance.
Laimea looked once more into the chest, thinking maybe she had missed something. Surely there had to be a reason why Anya had kept this chest? The armor did not seem significant enough. There had to be something else…
"It's not there, child."
Laimea yelped in surprise, jumping to her feet and whirling to face the door of the bedroom. Anya stood there, looking to the young woman impassively and holding a small bundle in her hand.
Laimea stared at the woman, opening her mouth to offer an explanation before Anya could fly into a rage over the opened chest. But Laimea's words faltered as she realized what Anya had said. She stared at her foster mother as the elderly woman walked calmly across the room to stand in front of her.
"You were looking for the last item," Anya whispered gruffly. "It was never kept in the chest. It is here." She held out the bundle to Laimea.
Laimea blinked, not understanding. Anya should have been furious, but instead she acted as if she couldn't see the open chest or the armor strewn about all over the floor. Laimea looked into Anya's eyes and saw how red they were. The woman had been crying.
Laimea reached out silently and took the small object from Anya's hand. It was wrapped in heavy silk and Laimea slowly began to remove the covering, her motions hesitant. She still did not understand, and Anya's actions only confused her farther. The woman said nothing; watching Laimea's hands expectantly.
At last Laimea pulled the silk free, and again she sucked in a breath at the sight that met her eyes. A small Elvish dagger rested in her palm, curved as if it were a miniature version of Nimrunya, its blade shining nearly as bright. The dark wood handle was carved with an intricate insignia inlaid with gold designs and tiny white and blue gems. Laimea brought her eyes up to Anya sharply, and though she could not bring herself to speak Anya understood her expression perfectly.
"That is the sign of the house of Galadriel," Anya whispered quietly, tears coming to her eyes once again. "You hold the dagger of the noble line of Olwë," the woman choked out, and Laimea could see Anya struggling to control herself.
But the news of the dagger overwhelmed Laimea as well, and she shook her head, trying to give the knife back to Anya. The woman would not take it. "But... I do not understand," Laimea sputtered. "How is it possible… how could you have this?"
Anya closed her eyes, letting the tears slip from her lashes, and took a deep breath. "The Lady Galadriel gave it to me the day we took leave of the Elves," the woman said softly. "I was… angry… and I did not want to take it, but she convinced me at last." Anya opened her eyes, taking Laimea's hands into her own and closing them over the dagger. "She bade me give this to you, to help guide you home lest you ever forget yourself."
Laimea stared at her foster mother, unbelieving. Anya released her hands and moved away, coming to a stop on the other side of the room. Her face became angry and Laimea feared for a moment she would see the Anya she was used to when it came to the subject of Elves. But instead the woman continued her story.
"I vowed to myself I would never give it to you," Anya admitted harshly. "I wanted nothing to do with the Elves after we left, and I hated the thought of you carrying around such a trinket of theirs. So I hid it away, and kept it from you." Anya shook her head, dabbing at the tears on her cheeks with the end of her skirt. "I thought I could protect you, Laimea," she said sadly. "I have done all I could. But now I see I cannot stop what is happening. I cannot stop what will happen. There is nothing more I can do for you, child. So I have given you that knife, in hopes that it will serve its purpose, and help to guide you in ways I cannot." The woman took a deep, shuddering breath, shaking her head as she looked at the dagger. "I fear it will lead you down a path of destruction… a path I have tried to keep from you for the whole of your life. But I have done all I could." Anya raised her dark teary eyes to Laimea's face, and the girl was struck with the depth of love and fear she saw there. "The rest is up to you, child," Anya croaked thickly. She turned away from Laimea abruptly and went toward the door as if she were about to leave, but then she stopped in the doorway.
"The armor," Anya said, her voice trembling, "was your father's. He left it for you… it has been altered to fit your form."
Laimea felt a lump in her throat at the words. She swallowed hard, moving woodenly toward the armor. She laid the dagger down carefully on the folded cloak and lifted the helmet, holding it in her hands gingerly and trying to imagine her father wearing it into battle. What a sight he must have made, charging forward in such armor, holding Nimrunya up to shine its light through the blackness of Mordor…
"For me…" Laimea breathed, making neither a statement nor a question. Anya turned in the doorway, watching her foster daughter gingerly admire the piece of Elven war craft. "For me?" Laimea finally asked, turning to face Anya. "But why?"
Anya met Laimea's eyes once more, her gnarled hands clasping her apron anxiously. "Because, my child," she said quietly, "your father knew one day you would ride out to war... sometimes I think he knew it even before you were born. And he believed his daughter should ride out wearing the finest armor in Middle-Earth."
Laimea felt goosebumps race over her skin, seeing the image from her dream of her father holding out Nimrunya to her. He had given her the sword just days before he'd left. This sword I give to you, my daughter. It has seen battle before, and it will see battle again. Wield it wisely, and evil will fall before you. Laimea stiffened. She had been too young to understand at the time, but now the meaning of the words was clear.
Laimea suddenly frowned, remembering all too well her and Anya's argument in the orchard just the night before. Anya had been adamant about keeping Laimea in the Healing House during the coming war, and now she seemed to be accepting the fact that Laimea would ride out to fight herself. "I don't understand," Laimea protested at last, tired of trying to understand her foster mother.
Anya sighed deeply. "Laimea," she whispered, coming from the doorway to stand before the girl and place a wrinkled palm against Laimea's cheek. "I do not want you to fight this war. I wish against it with every part of my heart. But I cannot keep you from doing what you feel is right. That is beyond my power, or my will. I cannot bear to see you unhappy, my child. I cannot bear to see such suffering on your face. Take your father's armor and that trinket dagger; ride out to fight for Minas Tirith! There is only one thing left I would beg of you, child, just one thing I would ask of you…"
Laimea placed her hand over the old woman's, pressing the warm palm into her cheek. "What is it, mother?" she asked softly.
Anya searched deep within Laimea's eyes, her face becoming deathly serious. The woman's other hand came up to rest against Laimea's other cheek and when she spoke her voice was low and heavy. "Do not fall in love with the Elves, Laimea," the woman warned. "Do not let yourself be smitten with them. Stay away from that Legolas, Laimea. Please. For my sake and for your own."
Laimea rolled her eyes at the words, pulling away roughly from Anya's grip on her face. So the woman had not changed. She was still the same hateful Anya. Laimea stalked to the piles of armor and began to gather up the pieces.
"Laimea," Anya started, but Laimea ignored her. It was one thing for Anya to warn her about the Elves; Laimea had her own grievances with that race. But she was tired of hearing the woman talk badly about Legolas when all he had ever done was good. Laimea was determined to hear no more of it. She managed to pick up all the pieces of armor and headed for the door.
"Laimea!" Anya called after her. "Please listen to me! Do not let them take your life from you! Do not let them hurt you again… Laimea!"
But the girl was already out the door and making her way through the kitchen. She went into her own bedroom, setting the pieces of armor down on her bed, and then she turned and slammed the door shut, bolting it firmly.
Only then did she focus once more on her father's gift to her. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then started to sort through the pieces carefully. It was time to see if this armor fit.
Outside Laimea's window the sunlight darkened. The gloom of Mordor slowly grew, swallowing Osgiliath into shadow and reaching for the city of Minas Tirith in evil greed. It was almost time.
