Chapter 11 – Showdown

"Himorn, are you sure about this?" Calenlas asked, "no one will blame you if you stay."

"I know," Himorn said resolutely, "but I will come. King Thranduil is my King as much as yours."

"And Carasgon is your uncle," Calenlas reminded him.

"I will not shield a murderer," the soft reply came.

Aragorn was finishing up with the briefing. Everyone had been surprised at his natural ease in explaining the plan clearly and succinctly, yet not overdoing anything. And the way he spoke was as though he was doing so with great authority and had been doing so all his life.

Aragorn said the last word concerning the plans, and paused, noting that the attention was still on him. It was as though he was expected to say something more. Feeling a little nervous, he offered a short prayer and began, somewhat hesitantly at first but growing in confidence and strength and power,

"Many of you have not fought in a long time; many of you have not fought at all. I know the fear, the apprehension in you and I feel it as well. There is a time to despair; there is a time to weep. But now, it is time to defend ourselves; the time to fight. I charge you, my dear brothers, be not afraid of strength and numbers. Arise, because of your King; stand firm because of your kinsmen, fight, because of your love. For Mirkwood!"

Aragorn meant every word he said, and hoped he had conveyed it well to the elves. He left, abruptly, feeling awkward at his speech. But he stopped just in the doorway. Was his hearing playing tricks on him? The hastily assembled army was practically cheering.

"Mirkwood!" the elves took up the shout, "for Mirkwood!"

Aragorn smiled, satisfied.

"Well done for a first time," Legolas materialised before him, giving him a reassuring pat, "not nearly as long-winded as Mithrandir, and not as hypnotic."

"Hypnotic?" Strider laughed, "so, you learned this skill from him?"

"Are you finally admitting that you fell asleep?" Legolas laughed at what the human implied.

Strider gave an evasive look, only causing Legolas to laugh harder.

Trying to change the subject, he asked, "Why did you think of Mithrandir?"

Legolas sobered up almost instantly.

"He would always give aid in times of need," Legolas reflected briefly on countless occasions where this had happened.

Looking pointedly at Aragorn, he added, "Perhaps his mantle now falls upon you."

Strider looked as though he was about to say something, but was interrupted by Haldir.

"They're ready to leave," he said.

And so, they left, shrouded in gloom.

The moon bore a reddish tint.

Blood moon, Strider thought.

The sky was not completely dark yet. Hues of navy blue, lavender and vermilion fused into a canvas above them. More than two hours had passed since Legolas left the Palace. Anything could have happened within that time. They could only hope that the elf, insane as he was, still had elven patience and thorough thinking. It was the only thing that could buy them more time.

The elves were armed both with the long-ranged bows and arrows, as well as blades of their choice. Most had opted for twin daggers, except the Noldor who preferred a slightly curved knife and some from Lórien who had grown accustomed to swords. Aragorn held his trusty Narsil, being more drawn to it than any other weapon. Despite its broken blade, his swordplay was efficient enough to wield it well and with deadly force. With a bow slung on his shoulder and a quiver of arrows strapped securely, he was ready.

Every single person's thoughts were on the battle ahead as they marched quickly and stealthily towards the Palace. The younger elves moved more hesitantly, trepidation creeping in with each step they trod. No one knew what they were up against. But when they saw Prince Legolas leading them surely and the broad frame of Lord Aragorn moving steadily ahead, the fears eased.

Even Belegil felt the same towards the human now. Since that rather embarrassing archery lesson, he had a grudging respect for the man, but hearing his plans and observing the steady way he commanded the army, Belegil was certain that this was no mere mortal, and certainly not like them. Although he had been sorely put down before his class, he was meek and wise enough to accept Lord Aragorn pointing out his shortcomings. The other elves were deferential towards the man; why should he not show the same respect? And thus with newfound reverence, he now marched behind Lord Aragorn.

The Forest River was straight ahead and Legolas was glad to see that the portcullis remained lowered. With no cover from any trees there, he could only hope that all of them crossed the river before being spotted. He did not want to test the eyesight and accuracy of any who stood guard.

Legolas silently counted the elves as they crossed.

One hundred and five.

More soft padding of boots.

One hundred and ten.

Legolas hoped they would hurry.

One hundred and fifteen.

Legolas remembered the sentries. They were usually the best archers and he had had the privilege of being ranked among them. He knew that unless they forded the river much further upstream, and stayed extremely close to the hills, they would be noticed instantly. Carasgon had told him that many millennia ago. Carasgon. He froze at that thought. So that was how he passed the sentry.

One hundred and eighty-five.

Carasgon had long been frustrated with palace security, and told him of its many faults. He had said that it was possible to take out the sentries, who in their elevated position were also more vulnerable to arrows, and climb over the walls beside the gate. All that was needed was a medium-sized army, he had said. He even boasted he could demonstrate it with a mere three hundred elves.

One hundred and ninety-five.

That must have been how Carasgon entered the Palace. Other than increased sentry posts, the King had not done much in view of the suggestion; he had not been able to. With spiders posing a major problem, all excess energy and time went into protecting the entire Elven territory, not merely the Palace.

Two hundred and five.

The first arrows rained down.

There was a cry and Legolas immediately shouted for those who had crossed to return fire.

"Leithio i philinn!" he called, while beckoning those crossing to quicken their movements.

They did not want to harm any innocent parties, although there should not be any, but if they were fired upon, they would defend themselves.

Two hundred and fifteen.

Another enemy guard fell.

Evidently, they were not accustomed to shooting downwards, and thankfully, had not done much harm.

The last elf crossed the river.

The last sentry was brought down.

They would not kill unless circumstances required it, and it would seem that the need had presented itself.

Legolas quickly commanded the gates to open, and the troops poured in, exchanging blows with those standing guard at the main entrance. Legolas wondered at how unaccustomed to the battle noises he was. As time wore on, his ear ached increasingly. The time spent in silence had grown on him, and now, he was not in the least pleased.

He noted that the Easterlings were extremely well-trained. Their swordplay was fast and efficient, and many elves had already taken cuts. Although not as wise and experienced as the elves, they had done an incredible job, but thankfully not leaving any fatalities yet. Legolas could only hope that the weapons had not been laced with poison, or the situation would change dramatically.

Then, the archers came. They appeared to be firing blindly into the fray, at times hitting fellow men, but most of the arrows that touched flesh found their way to the elves. The Easterlings were almost elven in their speed, agility and accuracy. Perhaps the only things they lacked (other than wisdom and experience) were the pointed ears and elven grace.

Legolas moved to leave the main assault, noticing that Aragorn was doing the same as he on the opposite side.

In perfect synchronisation, the duo took out the archers; they were doing far too much damage. Their flawless coordination was as though they had been given the signals for releasing the arrows, such that the projectiles flew nearly at the same time, the same speed, slightly towards each other, and finding their targets before the arrows met.

Shoot to kill, Legolas reminded himself, knowing that Aragorn was thinking along the same lines.

Most of the archers had gone down, or were attempting to return fire. Legolas kept track of the arrows he had used. There were perhaps twenty more left in his quiver. Considering the fact that Aragorn almost paralleled every single archer he hit, the man would soon be running low on projectiles as well.

Aragorn wondered what the battle would look like from an aerial view. The centre would have been a mess, bodies twisting and moving in some unfathomable pattern. And there would have been the both of them in hopefully pure symmetry at the flanks, releasing arrows at about the same rate. At least Aragorn estimated that he was releasing three arrows for every four Legolas did, and most of them were actually true to their targets.

Once again, he was grateful for having to teach the elf-children.

It was then that Aragorn caught a movement from the corner of his eye.

An Easterling was wandering up behind the Prince, blade raised.

And Legolas was too busy trying to take down more archers.

"Legolas!" he shouted, knowing the urgency of the situation.

Solely by instinct, he moved.

Legolas turned around.

Fast though his reflexes may be, he was unable to do anything much now. He raised his bow in defence, cringing at the snapping sound as the blade cut the wood into two. A perfect waste of a good bow!

But he had no time to think, no time to even draw his daggers.

The bow-string fell out, and each limb of the bow quickly became makeshift weapons as he readied himself for the Easterling.

The Easterling was swinging his blade close now. The wood would barely stop the blow, but it did not matter.

The Easterling stopped, hand frozen in mid-air, before falling downwards, revealing a dunadan's arrow embedded in his back.

Legolas managed to move away before that Easterling fell on him.

How had Aragorn gotten so good? Legolas wondered as he nodded his thanks in the general direction of where the man might be.

The arrow had found the Easterling amidst all the beings, who were in constant movement. He would have to speak with the human of this! But now, he hurriedly picked up a discarded Easterling bow, refilled his near-empty quiver with some fallen arrows, and tried to work with them.

With the archers reduced in numbers, the elves began to have a certain advantage. Haldir and Rúmil had joined the duo in what grew into an archery contest (which Legolas won), and many elves, strengthened by their leaders' zeal, fought with renewed vigour.

On the other hand, the Easterlings grew disheartened. They had relied much on the archers, and with those gone, they did not carry much hope. Especially those who watched Elladan and Elrohir, fighting as one, parrying, cutting, thrusting effectively. They protected each other's backs, cleaving those who came too near.

Himorn finally cleared a way into the Palace, and he charged in. Legolas followed, as soon as he had retrieved a good bow and refilled his quiver, and so did the other elves, after ensuring that there would be none to give a report.

A few elves had to be left behind, being too weakened from battle injuries, and these were put under the care of the groups guarding the exits. About five elves had been lost in this first onslaught, and their weapons were taken by those who lost theirs. Aragorn brought the rear after ensuring that the elven guards were put into place at the three pre-determined locations.

Room after room was refreshed with the elven presence. No one knew the exact number of rooms around, and could only hope that this was a feasible plan. Certain passages were well guarded, but others had minimal resistance. All were glad that there were few elven bodies in those rooms they had been. Most of the Palace staff were grievously injured, though not to death, and had grown delirious. Little could be done except for the elves to leave a fresh supply of athelas boiling to help them somewhat.

They searched the Palace methodically, systematically, leaving none to sound the warning. An unknown span of time passed, but they had found no sign of the King or Carasgon yet.

The Palace was deathly silent whenever the clash of weapons ceased. It was almost impossible for any elf not to know that there was fighting within the compound, but Carasgon, with his long exposure to humans, might have lost some of his elven senses, the same way Legolas' hearing and sight had been heightened following his being confined to the silent darkness.

Legolas was feeling the impatience threaten to take over him. Another elf had been lost in a skirmish. They needed to find his father fast. They could not let elf after elf die in vain. With each death, their morale fell, and they grew more impetuous. Although all of them had seen death at one point or another, none relished the sight of the last throes or the sound of the elven farewell.

The Palace was large, he knew, and although they had broken it up into a few sections to search, progress was still slow. And Legolas suspected that the thick tapestry, walls and doors would absorb sounds, rendering any soft cries for help inaudible.

Aragorn and Himorn were just behind him, feeling very much the same as he. He could hear them beginning to tire, he could feel their exasperation. Legolas fervently hoped that when they got to the right room, there would be enough people in a battle-ready state. Their group grew smaller as they passed more rooms, elves breaking off from the main group to secure more territory.

Those would have to remain in the rooms for at least half an hour, to ensure it was not re-occupied, before rushing to rejoin the group. Legolas counted about twenty people behind him. If they carried on at this rate, well, it was not what anyone could consider good.

All of a sudden, he stopped, causing the column to lurch unsteadily for a brief moment. He thought he had heard something: a soft song through the air. He turned to face those behind him, seeing their supportive gazes and silent commitments.

Legolas led them, running through the corridors. But the song had ended before he could identify it or even the singer. Even so, he was willing to risk it. Without anything to guide him now, Legolas tried to remember the direction of the voice.

Then Aragorn spoke unexpectedly, "The dinning room."

Legolas moved without question, trusting the man completely. Wherever he had gotten the idea from, he had considered it fit to be brought up and checked out. Even if the section was not under their jurisdiction – as Aragorn enjoyed putting it – they would have to take a look. Besides, it was near enough such that it would not be that much of a waste of time should they return and continue on their planned search field.

The group moved hurriedly through the corridors. More Easterlings were here, but the singing bows quickly put an end to them. It was here that another elf collapsed, pain showing on his features as he tried to keep himself from squirming. Aragorn moved over immediately.

The elf had a few minor wounds but was in an otherwise perfect state. Aragorn looked at the wounds more closely. The blood flowing out was not the usual red, but darkened with… poison. A spell. There was nothing that could be done now except to leave him in a guarded room with more athelas boiling and infusing the room.

The column now reached the dining room. There were two entrances there, both of which were closed. Legolas instructed them to form two groups. The first would wait while the second reached the other door, and hopefully enter at the same time.

Now, everyone was far more certain that the treasure hunt ended here.

There were scuffling noises, chokes and a brief shout.

The other group seemed to take long eons to move.

Elladan and Elrohir made for the last room, a mere five elves behind them. There had been no finds thus far, and although the corridors were increasingly well guarded, they posed no great threat to the elves. Other than an elf who had behaved the same way as the scratched one in Legolas' group did, all of them were in a fit state.

Elladan hoped that someone had identified the right room. Every single area that their group had been to was unoccupied, and except for this last corridor, there had been no trouble. Even here, none of them sustained a single scratch, at least not yet. Although archers had been present outside the caves, those in here only wielded scimitars, and arrows were more than enough to dispatch them without coming close.

The twins were surprised as they turned into this room. It was empty and unlit but there was an opened lock on the door. Why would anyone lock up an empty room? Elladan estimated that they were now along the perimeter of the Palace facing the river. They stepped in cautiously, as they had done for all the other rooms.

Elrohir saw that this led to another room, and promptly went over.

But as he moved, the floor beneath him fell away.

"Elrohir!" Elladan shouted, not seeing where his brother was.

"I'm here," a voice somewhere below him called up, "there's a room here."

Soft footsteps from underground. Some prodding sounds.

"No, this hole doesn't lead anywhere."

A thought suddenly dawned upon the twins.

"Legolas must have been here! That's why no one found him!" Elrohir exclaimed before his brother could.

Elladan had found the flap by then, noting how well-concealed it was. The hinges were only small lumps in the floor. Elladan studied it closely before deciding that there was only one way to open the flap: from the top. Another elf retrieved a coil of rope discarded on the floor and kept the flap opened while Elladan hauled his twin up.

"That wasn't a nice place to be in," Elrohir said, as they looked for something to mark the trap.

In the end, they settled for coiling the rope around the flap. That done, two elves stood guard there while Elladan, Elrohir and the last elf went on to the adjacent room, beginning their half-hour watch.