At the crest of the hill all is confusion at first – I cannot tell what happens. I see movement silhouetted against the fires that the elves have built, and I hear fair voices raised in the controlled urgency of trained warriors. I hear Lord Ionwë, I hear Faelwen but they are further into the trees than we are. Idhren and I pause to make sense of what we see but it is a mistake – it is only my elven friend's reflexes that respond to the spider that is almost upon us, and his silver blades are flashing and spinning in the heartbeat that it takes for him to dispatch it. I am still struggling to claw my heart back out of my throat with the surprise of it when a twitching and hissing body falls at my feet, and then Idhren grips at me and pulls me along into flight behind him. I hear the shriek of the Shadow as we race to join the others and I can tell by the sound of it that it is here, with us now in the trees and circling us. It has seen me, and it is furious.
There are so many spiders still. I wonder if the Shadow has called all of the remaining creatures left in Mirkwood to its side, so many are they. They mill about, skittering shadows amongst the trees: some aloft, some hiding within the undergrowth. They are on the trunks of the trees, they are racing across the forest floor but the elves have spent long, so very long fighting these creatures that they know very well what they are about. The elves are swift, dancing things. They do not remain together but rather space out far enough to give themselves room, yet remain close enough to give or receive aid if it is required. They are a dance of fierce, cold eyes and flashing blades. Their faces are terrible to behold in their feral beauty and they cut through the spiders as though they are an annoyance only, but the strength of the spiders is their number. Ever more they come; a twitching in the darkness, a movement just out of sight, a silent throng that come and do not stop. I pay no mind to the spiders.
As I run through the battle I stop to crush one or two and I see that Idhren does the same with any that stray close enough, but we are about other business. I see Almárean, I point him out to Idhren and we head to him. He is on the edge of the battle; no firelight reaches him and he is a tall and grey dancer reaping through his attackers. The trees here are thinner, the ground more open. I take a moment to swing my axe in a great arc and separate a hideous, huge thing from a number of its legs, but before we are completely together again there is the shriek of the Shadow, and my own legs are nearly gone. It is here, right here with us!
I trip to a halt, I see Idhren a few paces ahead of me and Almárean a number ahead even further but both look to me in horror. I turn, and a ghost slips from the trees.
I feel real, physical pain at the sight of him. My chest tightens like a vice and my heart fits, each breath sounding harsh in my ears. He is a horror to look upon: his hair is come undone from his braids and hangs about his face in tangles, and I can see his eyes glaring balefully at me. They are not blue, they are black; empty pits bereft of any grace or light. His body hangs too loosely, too brokenly and it moves as though each part of it is in conflict with every other. My Legolas holds himself upright, forever ready to run or to climb or to fight. Each movement is deliberate, precise, graceful. This thing is a mockery of him.
It hangs its head low but I can see enough of that ravaged, familiar face to note when its mouth twists in a hateful smile. Its head tilts in a birdlike movement and it has eyes only for me, but I cannot bear it. I cannot bear to be looked at like that by my friend.
Ai, Legolas. What has it made of you?
"Nogoth," it hisses, and it is like an exhalation of breath. I am split between curiosity that it has learned enough to speak, and indignation that I am being insulted by a creature that does not even have a body of its own. Its words are stolen, although I am unsurprised that it speaks in Sindarin; it is possibly the loudest of the languages rattling about in Legolas' head.
"Aye," I reply clearly, and a decision has been made. I tighten and flex my hand about my axe, hold my head up high and take a few bold steps toward it. Idhren and Almárean look horrified. "Stunted indeed, by the standards of His kind, but I will take no insult from one in borrowed flesh and in stolen words. Give him back."
"Enni," it breathes back, and it is a poisoned sound. "Den Aníron."
I feel sickened to my stomach by its words – it has claimed him like a child with a favourite toy – but I force it from me. I turn my voice hard and loud and I use all of the rudeness I know best irritates my friend. I am the Gimli that he first met, I am the Gimli that harried and harassed him for a long time until Lothlorien. I am the Gimli that I sometimes still am when I wish to drive him most into annoyance.
I plant the heel of my axe into the forest floor and lean upon it to seem unconcerned, and I laugh. I laugh to cover Idhren and Almárean's departure, I laugh to cover my fear and my grief and my horror, I laugh because I have run out of anything else that I can do. If there is a glimmer left of Legolas within the creature before me then I must reach him, I must wake him, but first I must make this Shadow as angry as I am able. It is a task I put my all into – Legolas has always said that I am very skilled at vexing people. The Shadow flinches at my laughter, recoiling, and the malice in its eyes is almost enough to turn my laughter into weeping but I stand firm.
"Behold!" I throw my hand out, meaning the Shadow and calling out to all who hear. I put into my voice every ounce of mockery that I can muster. "A shadow that has come loose from its owner; I would fear the owner more I imagine. You have spent all the last weeks searching for a body to burrow into like a worm, and you choose an elf child! Why, they do not even grow beards! You have laid no finger on me… I imagine only that you fear me, but then it is to be expected. I imagine even thoughtless and mindless lost shadows feel fear of their betters. Do not believe yourself terrible to us – I would say bothersome at best. My only mistake was not burying you deeply enough when last we met."
I know the Shadow; its mind has touched mine and I know that it has intelligence. It is crude and base, and it feels only shades of hatred and rage but it understands, and it has learned a great deal in a short time. It understands my words because Legolas understands them, and it hisses a low and constant warning now. It is like the rattle of a snake or the warning growl of a cat. I see one lip lifted in a feral snarl, and there are no claws this time but it holds Legolas' knives loosely in its hands. I know that if it attacks me now I am done; speed and agility has always been Legolas' advantage and no matter how exhausted his body must be by now, the Shadow will drive him beyond endurance into the grave. None of it touches him any longer, wherever he may be.
"In truth," I feign indifference. "You say that he is yours, but he is not your elf… he is mine."
I see something then: a glimmer of affront and for a passing breath it is Legolas! I know not if I see it truly, or if I see it because I wish to see it but I feel hope then for the first time since losing him. The Shadow feels it, wrests control back swiftly and it screams its fury that I have goaded a response from the sleeper within. It screams longer and louder than I could have thought it might have breath for, and it is almost more than I can endure but I grow a tolerance for it of late. Not so the other elves – I hear them behind us crying out in fear and pain as it tears into them much as my friends were stricken at their first experience of it. Idhren and Almárean take this opportunity now to make their move.
The Shadow draws itself together and I feel a thrill of fear – it is about to attack – but my friends are swifter. Whilst I have been a distraction they have taken the time to melt into the darkness and come behind, and then they are upon it. They grab it, they pin its arms to its sides and seek to restrain it as I rush forward to help, but they are too gentle… they do not wish to hurt Legolas.
"Hold him fast!" I cry as I run, but I am not going to get there in time. The Shadow fights like a wildcat and it has no concern for their welfare: it shrieks and spits and hisses, and when its hands wrest free it has knives in each. Idhren and Almárean both cry in pain – I see blood but all is too dark and too confused for me to see who is hurt. I am paces away – mere paces! – but by the time I am close enough to give any assistance it is free again. Idhren is upon one knee and the Shadow is upon him like a whip, face twisted in rage that they dared to lay hand upon it, but Almárean is there to turn the blade with his own. He stands over Idhren and gives enough time for his friend to stumble to his feet, and then there is a brief flurry of movement. They are too fast, too nimble for me and now I am far too close for comfort! Blades whirl in the starlight and I scurry back but still, Almárean and Idhren are too afraid to hurt Legolas. The Shadow has use of its host's skill and it is more than able to hold them both at bay, and when it sees me it abandons them for quarry more suited.
It is upon me then, and I hear my name called in fear but I am ready.
I am no match for Legolas in a fight of this kind; it is dark and confused, we are in a forest and it is using his knives with intent to harm. I have seen this, I have seen this used against many a foe and never dreamed that I might face it myself, but I know well enough that if I hold back for fear of the elf then I will stand little chance indeed. It rushes at me, expecting me to stumble back but instead I move to one side, my axe is slipped from one hand into the other and I draw back to punch it with every ounce I can muster squarely about the head. I know that Legolas can arrest his own movement as though a bird on the wing, so I force it off balance and it staggers to one side. I spin, my axe is turned again and the head tucked against my back, the haft brought solidly down upon its staggering shoulders.
The Shadow falls but tumbles only a second upon the ground, it rolls fluidly and is back upon its feet and facing me again. Lank hair once the golden of sunlight falls dirty about a face made ugly and twisted with hatred. It snarls and it is like the sound of a mountain cat, spitting and raging. It comes at me again but it is more careful, its flight more controlled. It flickers at me like flames, darting and dancing and once again I do something very, very foolish indeed. I drop my axe entirely, and I barrel into it the very second it is close enough.
I feel the singing blades bite, but I am too far within its guard. I punch it to the ribs, but I am too busy driving it back with everything that I have. Legolas is taller, aye, but I am far more solidly built and far heavier than he is. I drive it back and it is forced to go as I take it, straight into the bole of a tree with enough force to wind a horse. The Shadow seems to feel it not at all, but it is pinned. I have its arms restrained better than any hold that Idhren or Almárean had on it and I call out to them.
They are there in a breath and it is well that they are – the Shadow is a shadow indeed, and just as hard to hold. It screams and it is so close to my ear I know only ringing to my left when it eventually pauses for air. It writhes and fights beneath me, but my friends are with me now – pale and worried but they grab one arm each.
"Bind him tightly!" I instruct. They both have rope and seek to bind this snake that I seek to hold fast: Legolas said once that the pain in his hands was a thing that he could focus on, and if we can secure the Shadow as well as grant our friend another rope to reach for, then that is what we will do.
Almárean and Idhren find success, finally, and back away. I release the Shadow to throw it upon the ground where it falls upon one shoulder to lie spitting and raging, fighting the bindings as though it feels no pain at all. Legolas' wrists are torn and shredded by its struggle and I turn my eyes from it: no good will come from mercy at this moment, and I turn my heart to stone.
It shrieks, and it is different this time. I realise what it does almost too late but Idhren understands.
"It calls them!" he gasps, and as one we turn to see that every spider still standing now stops, casts its myriad crimson gaze upon us and begins to make way in our direction. It is one of the eeriest sights I have ever had the misfortune to see – the moment when they arrest their battle, cease, turn and recognise us. I see the Shadow within every single eye. I utter a few choice curses, then I repeat them louder. My axe is found and back in my hand very quickly indeed.
The three of us stand with the Shadow hissing and cursing in the centre of our group but we cannot hope to hold this position – I try to think on what my plan might have been for this and realise this is one of the smaller details I had not quite shored up yet. They are many, we are just three, and they come.
~{O}~
There is a wrathful cry and Lord Ionwë is there, bracketed by the wondrous sight of his warriors. Blood stained and gore streaked but feral eyed and fearsome, and welcome to behold indeed.
The warriors are all in good condition, considering. They have been fighting a while now but they are strong, the endurance of the Eldar no myth, and although they are bloody and torn they move just as surely and swiftly as they did at the start of this night. Each to a one their faces are expressionless and fierce, and it is a good thing that I am friend and not foe.
They chase the spiders, they come from overhead, they fight their way through and it is as though they are smoke; they are between us and the beasts, stood in a tight circle in no time. A number bring fire, they have left huge drifts of wood about this area and they set it alight now so that we are surrounded by flame and smoke. I catch the eye of Lord Ionwë and a moment passes between us: he will guard us – we are to pay no mind to what they do – but I must hurry. I am trusted; a thing not given easily by this elf and I nod to him before turning my attention to the thing at our feet.
It chews at the ropes about its hands like an animal. Given time I do not doubt that it could succeed but it is time that it will not have. I grab the creature and drag it, kicking and cursing, into a spot away from the trees, open to the sky and surrounded better by fire, and Almárean and Idhren follow. They are still too timid; I can see that they cringe and flinch with every rough treatment of the creature and I know it is Him that they think of.
"You will not help him this way!" I snap at them, dropping the creature back to the ground and stepping over it to roll it so that it faces the sky. "Either assist, or go to join the warriors."
I do not stop to see what they do but continue, and after a moment I am relieved that they both drop to their knees either side of me. I do not know if I could do this alone. I instruct Almárean to hold it down by the shoulders, Idhren by the feet, and I take its face in both of my hands. For a moment my eyes are locked upon those of the Shadow and I feel the world fall from me.
They are black – black as pitch and hold nothing but a cold hatred. It looks at me and I see it… truly see it, and it takes my breath away. I see a loneliness so aching that I would weep if I had an ounce of control over myself right now; I see the long cold of the earth and the madness of it. I see the faintest glimmer of yearning – oh, how it wishes to walk in the light! It wishes to be warm as we are warm, it wishes to live as we do, but over it all is the hatred and the cruelty and if I might have pitied it once upon a time, I know that it must be stopped. It must go back into the dark and the cold and it must give back what it has stolen.
I am falling into those eyes and I am crushed beneath the weight of the world. I am numb from cold and maddened by loneliness but I hear my name called. I hear it, I feel a warm hand upon mine, and I tear myself free. I see Idhren, his concerned face peering into mine with those forest green eyes so full of compassion and I pull breath back into my lungs, I feel the blood rushing through me again. I am thankful for my friend Idhren.
I am careful not to be drawn in again, and even as it fights and bucks and snarls beneath us, I grab its head and I twist it up to see the stars.
It fights us all the harder now, and although we struggle to hold it down we take heart from it. We are surrounded by fire and it cannot be so deeply dug in that the light of the fire and the light of the stars do not affect it at all, especially not the stars. I have seen it walking in daylight, but it was in starlight that the elves were born. In starlight they walked before ever they knew the light of the sun, it is in starlight that they draw comfort and Elbereth has always loved the elves best. It is not sunlight that will bring our elf home, it is the stars.
The Shadow screws its eyes tightly shut and fights us but we are too resolute, too desperate to let it gain purchase, to break free. I hold its face to the sky and it screams. It screams as though it is aflame, as though it burns but it is not the shriek that we have come to know and fear – it is a true and honest. It is in great pain and I do not know whether it is the Shadow that screams, or whether it is Legolas.
"Baw Gimli, saes! Leithio nin... daro! Gin iallon!"
I hear Almárean choke a sound of grief but he does not falter. It is not him, it seeks to use his voice to weaken our resolve but it is heart breaking to see him so agonised, so in pain, and to be the cause of it.
"What if it is him?" I hear Idhren ask in a small voice.
"It is not," I bite out angrily. "Legolas would never beg so."
Even so, as I reach forward and prise open its eyes I hear Almárean murmur comfort to his prince – his ward – pinned to the ground at his knees. As the Shadow arches from the ground, as its eyes can see nothing but the stars it screams again. It screams and screams as though it might tear its own throat out, it screams with hatred and fury, pain and grief. It does not want to go. I hear Almárean whispering in their musical tongue, words tripping and falling from him to the ear of the elfling he has all but raised. I close my heart to the pain in his voice, I hear not his words. Idhren has fallen deathly silent and keeps to his task, all but lying across the Shadow's lower half as its legs kick and its body bucks and fights him. His face is white and so very afraid for his friend, but his eyes are like flint. He hears Almárean – he can do no less than hear his words whether he wishes to or not – and the heartbroken, murmured comfort is twisting at Idhren as it twists at me, but we do not falter.
The Shadow tries again to cajole, to beg, to call to us to release it. It tells us that we burn him, that we hurt and betray him and begs to know why we do this. We do not reply. It turns then to threats, to accusations, to cruel jibes and unkind mocking. Still we do not reply. It learns so quickly – so fast does it learn language, so swiftly has it pulled Legolas' memories and knowledge of us from his mind. I do not know how much longer before it buries itself so deeply that we will never tear it free, I do not know if that moment has not already passed us by, but I cannot think on that. I cannot think on anything right now other than the threatening, begging, screaming thing beneath me, and if I could I would shut my eyes and cover my ears and never speak to another soul again but I stay steady. I cannot lose him… not like this.
Do you hear, my friend? Not like this.
The battle continues around us and I wonder how much time we have been this way. It cannot be long, but it feels as though I have lost years to this moment. I grip my hands in golden silk, I brush it from his face and I force him to face his stars and finally – there! A gasp: a shuddering, choking heave of air and I see him. Now I speak.
"Legolas!" I cry, "laddie! We are here, we are all here, but you must fight awhile longer."
And he curses. By Elbereth he curses! They are inventive, crude, laegrim profanities but they are not for us. It is Legolas!
"Get it out of me!" he cries, his teeth clenched so tightly I can barely make out his words. He chokes back his pain – he does not scream as the Shadow does – but I can see him, I can truly see him now and when he glances at me with fierce, furious eyes of blue I nearly sit back on my heels and weep then and there.
My hands are not pinning his head to the ground now, they bracket it. I pat one cheek and I choke as well, something between a sob and a laugh.
"It is down to you to do that, you awful elf. We are here, but we cannot fight this for you."
His eyes close and his head tilts back upon the ground, stretching his neck almost to the point of snapping. His forehead is furrowed in pain but it is something else – it is determination, it is anger, it is the pure unbridled will of my elf as he seeks to push out the thing that has taken what it does not have any right to. When he opens his eyes again they are wide and he seeks his stars as a drowning man seeks the air, and by Eru he screams. This scream is defiance, it is more a war cry than anything that has passed his throat this night and when the Shadow leaves him it is explosive.
Legolas arches upon the ground and the darkness is gone like it has been forced to flee, a spreading bloom of shadow that knocks us all to our behinds in surprise but when it is gone, Legolas slumps again and his eyes are shut. His breath is loud and hoarse and we rush to him. We begin to crowd about him and Idhren is cutting his bonds quickly, but the first thing he does with his mangled and bloody hands is to wave and bat us away from him.
"I have been confined enough," he breathes irritably. "Give me air, even for a moment before you start clucking about me."
I am stunned. They are not the words of thanks and greeting I had expected, but he cracks one eye open then and grins at us. He is clearly exhausted, battered and bruised but it is no weak and wilting smile, no faltering expression of emotion but a broad, relieved grin. I cannot help myself; I let myself fall back onto my behind again and I am laughing. I must laugh or I will fall into tears and he turns to me, reaches out and grips my hand. It is not his usual crushing grip – his hands must be painful again now – but it is a seeking of reassurance, a promise that he is well… it is thanks all in one. I see the gratitude in his eyes for a moment and I brush it away with a shake of my head. There will be time enough later for such things, I cannot do it. I am weary and aching and my heart is fit to burst with all I have experienced these last days, and it is not over yet.
"Help me up," Legolas bids. I expect Almárean to fight it but he is too devastated with his own emotion to so much as speak right now. He helps Legolas to pull himself upright, and when Idhren can contain himself no longer – launching himself at his friend to envelop him in an embrace with a wild yell of joy – Almárean sits back and covers his face.
Legolas pats Idhren's back awkwardly, ready to topple over again, and when Almárean is able to compose himself he uncovers his face, leans forward upon his knees and is himself again. He pulls Idhren from his friend, he begins to pull what is left of the rope from Legolas' wrists and tears strips from his cloak to bind them well enough to make him more comfortable. All the while he is reprimanding them both and promising them that they will drive him to sail before the year is out, and demanding to know what he has done to them to deserve such cruelty. Idhren and Legolas grin at each other through the admonishments. I do not believe that this is the first time they have been subjected to this lecture.
Legolas turns then to the battle about us even as his wrists are still being bound. He sees all that occurs and then seeks me out, and I read much in his eyes. For a moment it is just he and I, and my question hangs thick in the air between us.
"I do not know," he shakes his head, answering what I have not asked. "I do not know if it truly understood what we do here. It was base and without form or thought of its own, it tore through my mind and memories as though they were gossamer webs, but I do not know if it understood them all. It was starting to, certainly."
"Where is it now?" I ask.
"The child," he replies. "It will seek refuge in the child. With every spider that is felled, it takes another part of itself back. The spiders must all be killed before we do anything to its host."
"Will it try to take you again?" Idhren presses. We are still sat on the ground like children and I am suddenly much more aware of the fighting about us. Legolas does not answer straight away and it is this that answers the question better than his words – he looks to each of us and I see a glint of terrible fear in his eyes, there and then banished.
"Perhaps," he replies softly. "My fëa is a raw and flayed thing right now, I truly do not know if I can fight it again."
"You can," I tell him certainly, and I am to my feet. "Can you stand?"
He nods to me before he has even thought it through, and if that does not speak of Legolas then I know not what does. In truth it takes great effort to get him on his feet, and even then Almárean must support him a while. I find and retrieve his knives, and there is a look of relief upon his face when he once again has them. They are a comfort to him, and he shakes himself free from help to stand swaying and weak, but resolute. His eyes are wild and fierce with the amount of will that it is taking to keep him upright but I need not fear, I trust in that will. By Eru I have never known a force like it!
He looks to me and smiles, a faint glimmer of jest about him even as he stands ready to fall.
"Are you enjoying your hunting trip, Gimli?" he asks, and I could murder him right as he stands for taking time now to joke after the grief he has put me through these last weeks, but I do not. I nod and I shrug.
"I understand the allure of it for some," I reply simply. "I can imagine why elves enjoy themselves – you are an odd race after all – but I think I shall stick to hunting creatures that I can eat afterward."
He laughs then and it is as though I can breathe for the first time since we lost him. A night and a day, it has only been a night and a day! I have lived my whole life over and then twice again for the weight I feel now upon me, but such a short time has passed. I smile back but I am choked and I try to find the words to tell him how glad I am to see him again, but he reads it in me and stops me. He waves one hand to tell me that he understands, and brushes his fingers upon my shoulder like the brush of the wind. We are set to leave but I stop for a moment and grab at Legolas' shirt sleeve, and he looks to me with a questioning.
"What brought you back?" I ask him, and I fix my eyes upon his. I search him for every nuance of expression, every passing emotion upon his face. I look upon him as though imprinting his features in my mind all over again and for once he seems uncomfortable under my scrutiny. He understands what I ask but he struggles to find his answer, and I ask it again. "We thought you gone – I did not believe we would truly reach you. What brought you back to us?"
"We do not have time for this," Almárean pushes gently.
"We have time," I snap back, but do not take my eyes from my friend. Darkness passes his eyes and he casts his gaze to the forest floor, but he does not hide from my question – he is thinking.
"I was far away," he tells us slowly, quietly; dredging forth a memory he does not wish to relive. "I was buried deep, pushed away and hidden in the cold and dark places within the Shadow. But I could still hear your voice, Gimli. I felt the touch of my friends and I remembered. I heard Idhren as well, and I heard Almárean telling me to find strength, to come back to you all. I felt the starlight upon my face and I remembered the Song… I was awakened. It was not the stars, not the warmth of touch nor the voices of those I love best, but it was all of those things together. I remembered myself. It hurt very much, but I remembered."
"Do not forget," I tell him. "All of those things that hurt it the most: do not forget them."
He looks up and he meets my eyes, and they cut like knives. He is defiant and stronger than he has been since we left the palace – perhaps stronger than even before then – and I can see that he holds it in his heart. He remembers everything that he is and he wears it about himself like armour. I do not know if it is strong enough to withstand the power of the Shadow, but it is the only thing that I can arm him with. There is a moment when I realise that Legolas is surrounded again by the faint nimbus that surrounds all elves as he reflects his stars and I am relieved – relieved to my very core. He is hurt and I do not know how he is even upright and moving, but we are not the only ones to have found Legolas again this night.
He nods stiffly in affirmation, and I return it. We are set to join the fray.
~{O}~
In all my years I never thought to see Legolas look more a child than he does when Lord Ionwë sees him approaching. The fierce elven commander that I am, frankly, quite frightened of forgets his surroundings and purpose as soon as Legolas sways and staggers toward him. His sword is sheathed and he strides across the charnel field to grab his prince by the shoulders and glare into his eyes as though reading his very heart. The smile that Legolas gives him is small but his entire face softens with it; it is the smile of a child to a much loved family member, and I am stunned when Ionwë roughly pulls him into an embrace, cradling his head to him and closes his eyes for a breath. It is brief but it is enough to have me ready to interject for fear of his welfare, but Lord Ionwë pulls him again out to arm's length, and although my friend looks stunned and slightly ruffled, he actually laughs softly.
"Your archers are greatly depleted," Lord Ionwë tells him. There are no recriminations. It was not Legolas that depleted them. "They are few, but they need you if you are able."
"Give me Orthorien and five shall be all I need," Legolas promises.
"I have need of Master Gimli here," Ionwë counters.
"It is best," is the wry response. "I have no time to shove his behind up into trees. Do not lose or break him though, I am fond of him at times and he needs much looking after."
"I am neither absent nor deaf, nor am I a thing to be traded." I grunt at them both. "If you are done hugging there are still many spiders left to dispatch and only half a night left in which to finish this. Care you to join me, or shall I go on ahead?"
Ionwë makes a sound that may suggest amusement – I am unsure, his face does not change – but he inclines his head and I take that as invitation to take lead. I spare one moment to shoot Legolas a narrowed glare.
"You are well enough for this?" I demand, and I know he is not.
"I am if I do not think on it," he admits. "What difference would it make if I were not?"
I cannot argue that logic and I grunt again, and my glare now is turned to Idhren and Almárean. The former twitches to be moving, the latter has not stopped watching about us this whole time and I fix them with my darkest glare.
"Keep his mind where it must be," I instruct them. It does not occur to me that I am giving orders to the Firstborn, nor does it strike me as odd that they both accept it as they would from their own commander, but when I turn to leave with Ionwë I feel a pang of regret to be separated from them.
I hear Legolas whistle a sharp, shrill call that pierces through the fray and I see three figures freeze and melt away to answer the summons. I am twitchy with exhaustion but my entire being vibrates with feverish energy; my endurance is whittled down to the purest of needs. I wish to fight, I wish to protect my own, and I wish to win. I heft my axe once or twice in my hand. I feel the familiar weight of it; the smooth wood and the off-centred balance that I have known my whole life. I open my heart and my mind wide to the Song of Arda, I push fear and doubt far back where it is hidden and crowded by wrath and revenge, and I stride forth. The elves need not protect us any longer; their circle fades and melts away and the spiders come through the gaps.
I swing my axe, and I welcome them.
TBC
Translations:
Nogoth - stunted one
Enni...Den Aníron - for me... I want it
Baw Gimli, saes! Leithio nin, Daro! Gin iallon! - No gimli, please! Release me... stop! I beg of you!
So what do you think? :)
There are three more chapters left of this night, three more chapters until this story is concluded, three more chapters in which an awful lot can happen!
As always I'd like to thank you all, but this extra special thanks goes out to my anonymous reviewers who I cannot thank individually. I've had some amazingly in depth and constructive reviews off you guys, I just wish I could message you back! Thank you, and thanks to everyone for the continued support. I don't think I'm going to know what to do with myself once this is all posted and over!
Enough rambling from me, I think. Drop me a review, I'd love to hear from you, and I'll see you all next week.
MyselfOnly
