Author's Note: Well, I'm baaack! And soon, too. Okay, this chapter was hard on the feels to write, and I hope all of my fans and readers don't disappear when I write this. Why? Because I love all ya'll very much so. You all made this story happen, and continue, and thrive and prosper and live long and prosper. Could I ask for anything more? No. So on that very serious note, enjoy! :)
Shoutouts:
MuggleCreator: Wow! Thanks for the positive feedback and everything! Also, are you the same Muggle Creator as the Fanfiction user who's reviewed every one of my latest chapters? If so, thank you sososo much, and if not, still, thank you sososo much for the review. Glad my dialogue is appreciated!
Chapter 20: I Screw Up
The orcs rushed in, and our archers waited for a command to fire. Aragorn gave it, and like a black cloud of death, down came the arrows, arching in the dark, cold, humid air, cutting through the tension and anger present. Down came the stinging darts, volley after volley, decorating the orc army like so many pincushions. But they just kept on coming. Far away, I saw an orc fall. Another, uglier, bigger, stronger, clambered over it and kept charging, shield up and spear at the ready.
But I kept at the firing of arrows, yelling to my archer comrades to aim for the neck and armpit. After all, that was what Legolas said, right?
I didn't actually kill all that many orcs. Top archers on Earth had nothing on elven archers, even mediocre ones, here in Middle-Earth. They aimed and they stroke true. I just pointed my bow into the air and figuratively crossed my fingers as the arrows-maybe-found a mark. Still, the arrows were much more preferable than using a sword.
But I had to soon. My arrows started to run low, and on the orcs charged, and as they came closer and closer, I had to loosen the sword in my sheath, my hand brushing against the green gem embedded in the sheath. As I did, I felt an influx of energy I hadn't noticed before. The green magic type of energy. And I added it to my ring, feeling safer. Ah, maybe I would survive without Merilieth's intervention.
And then the ladders swung up onto the walls. I put away my bow, swinging my sword furiously at the fastenings, chopping at the grey, gnarled, gross hands of orcs that peeked over the wall of the Deep. The cries of elves and humans and Uruks filled the night, angry cries, pained cries, death cries. It chilled my spine, and I felt goosebumps form, even under my armor and clothing and cloak hood. War…this was war. I felt adrenaline increase my speed and power, but also my dread, as orcs started to full on fight us, up on the wall. The rain became hard and painful.
By this time, I was tired already, and my arms struggled to hold the sword. Each death I caused made my stomach churn violently. Each lightning strike highlighted the newly-formed blood stains on the dull grey stone of the wall. Some stains were black, the blood of the orcs. Most were red with the blood of men and elves.
But then I saw my drain-protecting fellows join the melee combat on the wall. They were all strong fighters, members of Eomer's eored, and they certainly helped in driving the orcs back. Forhil joined me, and his swordsmanship was amazing (so I didn't have to strain myself too much, thankfully). I felt inspiration run through my veins like a shot of Red Bull.
Unfortunately, I still had to fight. I was in this for good, I was at the battle of Helm's Deep, and I was going to survive, even if it killed me. So I parried swings of cruel-looking swords and axes and spears, I stabbed and thrusted into thick armor, I swung at necks and ladders and grappling hooks. But most of the time, Forhil's skill with a shield was the reason I stayed alive. We fought almost completely back to back, which was rather cheesy, but it worked.
But I looked down every now and then, towards the drain, and from far away saw the preparation of the bombs and torches that would tear apart stone and men and the Hornburg.
"Forhil! The drain!"
I could barely hear myself, but the captain managed to hear me, and he called for the rest of the company. Several were missing, and I saddened, figuring they weren't on vacation on a happy little sunny beach; we went on anyway, and we lowered a rope. Gornin and a few others went first, protecting the rope from Uruks as the rest joined them. I was last, taking one last look at the wall as it was-intact. I didn't know if it would be intact for long.
The protecting of the drain was not going well. Then again, I never thought it would. Bombs were already in the drain before we arrived, and all the orcs had to do was to force a little bit of flame through our thin wall of bodies. And the idiotic rain wasn't acting watery, but rather as pelting bullets falling from the sky, and the fires of torches flamed on.
Forhil had suffered a wound to the arm, Gornin one to the leg, and my head was bleeding profusely. The rest of the soldiers were in equally bad shape, though elvish arrows helped us every now and then.
Yeah, this thing was going to blow.
I knew it for sure when the biggest Uruk I had ever seen before approached. He held a sparkling, bright blue torch high over his head, and as the other Uruk-Hai pressed in on us, causing our deaths one by one, the giant orc neared, his torch hot. He pushed through us, spearing two soldiers on one sword, and all I could do was draw on my magic and shield whoever I managed to shield in the split second before the Deep's downfall.
Red. Orange. Heat. Fire. Dust. Blood. Stone shattering with a crack that made your teeth feel week in their gums.
My eyesight blurred as I was blown backwards by the explosion I knew would come. The magic barrier my ring generated kept me safe from shrapnel, but I felt exhausted from mental strain soon enough after bricks hit it and bounced off like wads of flimsy paper.
Really. Tired. My limbs felt numb. Orcs closed in as the dust raised by the explosion settled.
"Mortal! I will take control-otherwise you'll get us killed!"
Merilieth's words didn't really register until I felt my body being jerked upwards and into action. A sword was swung about, and everything seemed okay. But between Merilieth's furious combat, and her gradually moving back into the Deep, I saw the unconscious figure of a pale blonde elf lying facedown in the gaping hole in the wall of Helm's Deep. Legolas.
So I did, naturally, the most stupid thing my fuzzy mind could think of. I erected a giant green magic barrier to shield the hole from intrusion by orcs, and Merilieth fought on. But the pain in my limbs, the growing lack of awareness in my mind, the uproar of orcs, the men who once guarded the grate fleeing...
It was all too much and I blacked out in the middle of a battlefield.
I woke up dazed, with a sharp pain in my forehead and crusted blood covering my face. My eyesight and hearing felt duller than usual, but I stood. I was hidden in a nook of the Deep, and a blond elleth, covered in dust and blood, lay beside me.
She had haughty cheekbones, a pale face, and a familiar hairstyle...
Her eyes opened, grey like a storm, and I realized it was Merilieth. I think I forgot how to breathe.
"Mortal, is that you? Ai!"
She sprang up, looking feline and...otherworldly, glanced about, and handed me her knife and bow and nearly empty quiver. "Come, we must find the others."
I just blinked. "We...we..." I looked at my left hand to find the ring still there.
"I know, mortal. Now, come quickly, for Eru's sake. I am just as surprised as you are, but surprise is death on the battlefield."
So I followed the elf, an arrow in my bow, which was much harder to draw. I wouldn't have been able to draw it if it hadn't been for the strains of living in Middle-Earth, which I thanked the gods...Valar for.
Oh my god, I would die without Merilieth.
Merilieth led me through the Deep, and we rarely encountered orcs. The sky was getting bright, and I noticed with a smile the mass of orcs getting slaughtered between Aragorn and Gandalf.
I saw Gimli, Eomer and Theoden, and...Legolas? No, Haldir. Success! Couldn't see Legolas, though. He was probably shooting arrows from afar to cover his friends. He usually did nice stuff like that.
"Merilieth, let's wait here. Rohan will win the battle."
The elleth scowled, but nodded nonetheless, and we stood there, dispatching any orcs that managed to escape their dooms (Merilieth did most of the work). I noticed a large green shadow taking shape on the not-so-distant horizon; the Huorns, dark trees from Fangorn, if the canon was anything to go by.
"Those trees look dark and ominous, mortal," said Merilieth, glaring at the dark boughs.
"Yes...they are. But they are on our side. For today, at least."
Merilieth nodded, and as the battlefield cleared, the orcs and Uruks ran towards the woods.
Their earsplitting shrieks rent the air as they perished, the tree trunks' bark becoming weaker than their deadly bite. Or rather, their bite became stronger.
So, the battle seemingly, finally, over, I headed over to Aragorn, who dismounted his horse feebly. Shadows reigned supreme under his grey, world-weary eyes. Merilieth was besides me, and I smiled at the ranger. He looked at me oddly, and then looked at Merilieth, and looked at me once more. He looked tired, dirty, and confused, and in serious need of a hug. I refrained from the hug, and decided on an explanation instead.
"Hello, Aragorn. Nice for you to meet me-the name's Alex." The poor Dunedan blinked.
"You...you two were separated during battle?" Another blink.
Merilieth nodded. "Yes. We have finally, it seems, been separated." She smiled. "Now Aragorn, if you could tell me, where is Legolas?" Blink.
Aragorn's face was fluid and changing in the short briefing he received. At first, distrust, then bewilderment, and finally despair when Legolas was mentioned. Lots of blinks. My stomach dropped several thousand leagues, and Haldir walked by, his face grim and solemn. I did not see Gimli anymore, one of Legolas' closest friends. Oh my Varda... I blinked.
"Aragorn..." Merilieth's face was one of horror. I thought of the two elves' little romance with dread.
Everyone turned to stare at me. Merilieth was shaking. Aragorn looked despairing. I saw Gimli, poor Gimli, finally. He was carrying the body of a very familiar blonde elf. A body that was pale, unmoving, and blood-stained on the torso. It wore a Lothlórien cloak that was in dirty tatters.
"What...no! No!" I started to feel tears and panic creep in together, a rather horrible pair. "He wasn't supposed...he wasn't...I thought...I thought that..."
Everyone's faces were sympathetic and sad. They weren't mad...but why?
"We saw you jump into the middle of the fray, Alex. When you saw Legolas fall," Aragorn said, his face solemn but not harsh.
"Was this supposed to happen, mortal? Was he supposed to die?" Merilieth looked like she wanted to be angry, to rant, to rage. But she wasn't.
"N-No. No. Haldir, he was, probably, but he didn't, and I-I didn't expect…." I trailed off, and Merilieth looked disappointed, maybe, as if she...as if she wanted to blame me, but couldn't. She went off to join Gimli, and Aragorn patted me on the back before going to join her.
I didn't know about Merilieth, but I found it in me to blame myself, selfish and stupid as I was.
I felt tears well up, but I managed not to start bawling. There were worse tragedies that happened that day, worse than the loss of a friend. Brothers and fathers and sons were lost.
But so was Legolas. And canon. And oh my god, did I screw up.
How? No idea. But I did.
I managed to get my mind off Legolas by explaining to Eomer, Theoden, Forhil, and Gornin that I was the seer that was housed within the elf Merilieth's body. Eomer reacted with a nod, Theoden in like (though both looked at me as if I were crazy witch for the next few days), Gornin with a forced, weak smile (again with the "crazy" look), and Forhil (the only one without the crazy-stare) with a harsh laugh and a, "thought you weren't so elf-like." They all held sadness and grief within their eyes.
Eomer had actually even apologized to me about the drain. He was all "My Lady" and "Your Sight should have been more highly regarded" and "Your council is now more important than ever" and "We shall ride together". It was very flattering, and it completely cheered me up and I smiled for the rest of my life and I completely forgot about the elf that died that really should not have. And, of course, I felt brilliant about the almost-thirty men that died before the drain of Helm Deep.
I lied. I did not get my mind off of the drain and its protection, and I did not get my mind off of Legolas. Rather, I thought about the elf more and more as I sorted through the bodies of the dead on the battlefield. The blond hair of an elf reminded me of his Elvish...glow. An orc's angry face reminded me of how I lied to everyone, including the elf, about being Merilieth, how he flirted with me until he found out the truth, how we fought, and how Legolas finally forgave me.
How his laugh lightened the darkest of moods, how his friendship with Gimli was meant to unite the races of dwarves and elves, how he was going to take down an Oliphaunt, how he would...gah.
And now Merilieth was gone from my head. I never thought I'd miss her, but... I couldn't seek comfort from her, couldn't squabble with her, couldn't talk to her whenever I wanted to.
And I felt so alone.
The stupid little green ring on my finger was the only thing I had, the only thing tying me to Middle-Earth. And it had ruined me and the canon world of John Ronald Reuel Tolkien.
Author's Note: Disclaimer: This is a FanFiction from the Lord of the Rings world, created and trademarked by J.R.R. Tolkien. The characters, settings, and anything created by J.R.R. Tolkien are not my own and I do not claim ownership to any of them. This is a FanFiction I made with nothing to do with J.R.R. Tolkien, and is for entertainment purposes only: I am not profiting financially from this work, which may or may not be canonical. Thanks to J.R.R. Tolkien for making the world of The Lord of the Rings, for without it, many people would be un-enlightened to the genius of Lord of the Rings and J.R.R. Tolkien and the following FanFiction would never have been made, and I would have no life. Credits also to Peter Jackson, one of the best directors ever, for dialogue and setting and inspiration.
And now the green ring of knowledge isn't mine either-its Hal Jordan's, and DC Comics'. And John Broome's, and Gil Kane's, and Bill Finger's, and Martin Nodell's. (This was not intentional...so...sorry dudes)