My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.
This chapter is a revision of the story "The Return of the Elf."
Thanks to the following reviewers: Joee1, windwraith, Telcontar Rulz,, Elfinabottle, LovewithWars, CAH, and The Inebriated Lion-Minion. Also thanks to the following for reviewing Chapter 1: potionsfailure and eiluj. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.
This chapter incorporates quotations from the book and/or movie versions of The Lord of the Rings.
Beta Reader: Dragonfly
Chapter 28: Field of Death
Vocabulary
crist—'sword'
elleth, ellith—'elf maiden', 'elf maidens'
hannon le—'thank you'
Hildegar—Battle Spear (Old English)
lang—'sword'
mae govannen—'well met'
magol—'sword'
megil—'sword'
mellon-nîn—'my friend'
nen—'water'
yrch—'orcs'
The Battle for Helm's Deep was over, and Aragorn stood surveying a field of death covered with the corpses of both friend and foe. Somewhere out there, buried under the carcasses of foul Uruks, was the body of his friend Haldir. Aragorn could not remember a time when he had not known the March Warden. Haldir! He could be painfully serious upon occasion, but also kind and compassionate. Aragorn had lifted both sword and cup many a day with the Lórien Elf. Now he was no more.
As Aragorn brooded, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye and whirled about, sword at the ready. There was always the possibility that an Uruk might lay hidden, feigning death in order to slay the unwary. But as quickly as he raised his sword he lowered it. This was no Uruk. Nay, it was a boy, freckled of face, his rusty hair long and unruly.
"Haleth son of Háma, is it not?"
"Aye, my Lord."
"So you see, Haleth, it is indeed true that there is always hope."
Haleth nodded and smiled a little. Aragorn laid his hand upon the lad's shoulder.
"I know it is hard to see victory in the face of the death of so many friends. Victory is never a pretty sight. Nevertheless, for all its ugliness, victory this is, and we shall make the best of it. Friend and kin shall be honored, and in their memory we shall carry the battle to our foes. The time will come when they look with despair upon such a field as this, but it will be upon their own doorstep, not ours."
Haleth straightened his shoulders.
"Shall I be there, my Lord?"
"It is King Théoden who will choose those who ride forth. Be sure, however, that whether or not you ride this day, your service in this war is not at an end."
With that, Aragorn bowed low to the astonished boy and strode on, looking for the companions of his quest. When he had found them, he went with them to the Great Hall, where Gandalf, Théoden, Éomer, and Erkenbrand awaited them.
"We must move quickly," Gandalf was saying, "for so shall the enemy. Warriors should be dispatched at once to Edoras, lest roving brigands reduce it to ashes in the absence of the King. It would be a pity if, having defeated the foe at Helm's Deep, the King had no home to return to! King Théoden, I would beg that you and a small party of riders meanwhile accompany me to Isengard, to confront its late master."
"Your counsel is good, my friend," said Théoden, "as it has ever been—even when I had not the wit to recognize it as so! Erkenbrand, you will swiftly lead a force to Edoras. Gather together as many mounted warriors as you can, save the few that will accompany me. Éomer, you shall ride with me. As my heir, you should now be present at all meetings of great import. You must be familiar with all that transpires so that you are ready to ascend to the throne upon an instant—I am an old Man, and this war is not yet over!"
"What of Helm's Deep?" asked Éomer. "There is much to be set in order here. The dead must be buried; the injured must be cared for; the refugees must be fed. Not all can ride out, for someone must take charge of these tasks.
"Haleth son of Háma," said Aragorn.
"We must make haste. It is the seasoned warriors who must ride," said Théoden impatiently. "Haleth is too young."
"Too young to ride," replied Aragorn, "but not too young to lead. Set him in charge of the tasks that must be accomplished here at Helm's Deep. He is his father's son and will serve you well."
Théoden looked thoughtful.
"Aye," he said, after a moment. "He is young, but in time of war ever the young perforce have stepped into the places of the old. Very well. Let Haleth son of Háma have the rule here in Helm's Deep."
Aragorn's confidence in Haleth had not been misplaced. Informed of the task with which he had been charged, the youth at once set out to organize the surviving refugees who were uninjured or at least hurt only slightly. Some he set to cooking and cleaning and minding those too young to work. Some he set to tending the injured. Some he set to dragging Uruk carcasses off to one side, as far from the fortress as strength and time permitted. Others he set to gathering and washing the bodies of their own dead, both Men and Elves. Above the bodies of the Men, Haleth caused barrows to be raised. As for the Elves, before departing Aragorn told Haleth that the Elves should be honored with a funeral pyre.
"They would not want to be buried in foreign soil. Through fire, release their spirits so that they may return to the West."
All was now in readiness for this funeral pyre. Haleth stood holding the torch, gazing for the last time upon the Fair Folk who had traveled far to assist those who were not their kin.
"Hannon le," he whispered reverentially. "Hannon le."
He bent forward to touch the torch to the pyre. Just then, however, he thought he saw a slight movement. He drew himself erect and handed the torch to one of his companions. Then he knelt down by the Elf who had seemed to move.
It was a fair-haired Elf, a bit taller and heavier than the Elf who went about with Lord Aragorn. Upon his back was a grievous wound, but as Haleth watched, he saw that his chest rose and fell, although the breaths were shallow. Haleth leaped to his feet and ordered that the Elf be quickly carried to the healers. He remained behind to check on the condition of each and every Elf who lay upon the funeral pyre. Only when he was satisfied that no others lived did he set alight the wood. Then he hastened back to the Keep to see how the survivor fared.
The healers had cleaned and dressed the wound, but in their faces it could plainly be seen that they doubted the Elf would live. Haleth ordered them to nevertheless do everything possible to restore him. Surely, he thought to himself, the Gods did not want this one to die. Yet day after day the Elf lay still, his chest rising and falling, but his eyes open and unfocused, as if he already walked among the dead. Every day Haleth visited him, but he saw no change.
Fascinated by the Fair Folk, Haleth had haunted their steps during the short time they had been in Helm's Deep, watching them and listening to their melodic speech. He had of course perceived that 'Hannon le' meant 'Thank you' and also that 'Mae govannen' signified 'Well met'. Beyond that, he could repeat various words, but knew not their meaning. At last he one day summoned forth every remembered phrase in a desperate attempt to rouse the Elf from his stupor.
"Yrch?" he said hopefully. He had heard that word uttered frequently.
The Elf flinched and moaned. Perhaps 'yrch' was not a good choice.
"Crist?"
The Elf did not move.
"Lang?"
Still no response.
"Magol? Megil?"
Haleth thought that he saw both a flicker in the eyes of the Elf and a slight smile upon his lips.
"Elleth?"
The Elf's eyes came into focus.
"Elleth?" he said slowly. "Where?"
"If you tell me what an 'elleth' is?" replied Haleth eagerly, "I shall fetch you one. Indeed, I shall fetch you elleths aplenty!"
The Elf chuckled softly.
"Ellith."
"Your pardon, my Lord?'
"The plural of 'elleth' is 'ellith'."
"Ellith?"
"Aye."
"Very well, then, my Lord. I shall fetch you some 'ellith' at once! Tell me what they are."
The Elf merely smiled.
"I thank you, but I doubt if you have any hereabouts. Besides, I would much prefer 'nen'."
"Nen?"
"Water."
Haleth leapt to his feet.
"I shall fetch you some 'nen' at once!"
Soon the youth was back with a water skin. Carefully, he raised the Elf's head slightly so that he could drink a few sips without choking.
"Hannon le," said the Elf at last.
"I know what that means," said Haleth proudly. "It means 'Thank you'!"
The Elf nodded slightly. Then, with an effort, he spoke again.
"If I am alive and you are alive, then we assuredly have won the battle. The Uruks would not have left any survivors."
"Yes," said Haleth. "We won, but at great cost. Your kinsmen…" The youth paused.
"Yes?" said the Elf.
"Not many of your kinsmen are still alive, and those who remain are for the most part grievously wounded."
The Elf nodded his understanding. "Legolas?" he said.
"Legolas?"
"He was the companion of Lord Aragorn and of Master Gimli the Dwarf."
"He survived the battle unharmed. He and the others have ridden away to do battle. They rode south, I think."
The Elf smiled a little. Then his eyes suddenly glazed over.
"Oh, Lord Elf, do not die!" begged Haleth.
The Elf's eyes came back into focus.
"I am merely going to sleep a bit."
The Elf dozed on and off for the remainder of the day. Whenever he roused himself, he found Haleth at his side, water at the ready. The youth also urged him to take a little bread dipped in broth, or at least to drink some of the broth itself, but the Elf did not yet have the stomach for anything other than 'nen'.
"My name is Haleth," said the youth as the Elf was sipping some water. "You were the leader of the Elves, were you not? You are called 'Hildegar', yes?"
The Elf smiled. "Haldir."
"Haldir," Haleth pronounced carefully. "Lord Haldir, I am glad you survived."
The Elf smiled a little more broadly. "Please, only 'Haldir'. Legolas would twit me without mercy if he heard me addressed as 'Lord Haldir'!"
The next day Haldir felt a little stronger and took both bread and broth. When the healers changed the bandages that covered the wound, Haleth could see that not only was there no sign of infection, but the wound was healing, and rapidly. It was plain that the Elf was going to survive. Haleth was filled with a joy that he had thought he would never again feel after the death of his father. The youth was sure that the Elf was an omen that no matter how grievous its wounds, Rohan would revive and its land and its people would be restored.
In a few more days, to the amazement of the healers, Haldir was up and about. He insisted on walking upon the battlements, gazing ever to the southeast, toward Gondor, and beyond that, to Mordor. A darkness hovered over those lands, and the Elf was seized with great restlessness. Haleth began to fret over how he would manage to keep Haldir from precipitously abandoning the Keep in order to rejoin his friends.
"How fares the Elf?" asked Éothain's mother one night as Haleth joined her family for supper.
"He mends rapidly, but I fear lest he will insist upon leaving before he is altogether healed of his wounds. He speaks often of his kinsman who accompanies Lord Aragorn. He declares that he does not want to leave him to the tender mercies of the Dwarf. He smiles when he speaks so, as if he were in jest, but I do believe that he feels great love for his kinsman—aye, and for Lord Aragorn, as well—and would depart this place if he could and follow after them."
Éothain's mother considered. "No doubt you are right that the Elf would depart this place before he is fully healed. But you must delay him as much as possible so that he is the less likely to do himself an injury."
"But, Aunt, how am I to delay him?" asked Haleth, perplexed.
"Mama says that idle hands make mischief," Freda piped up. "You must make sure that he is not idle. Give him chores. He could do some of mine," she added helpfully.
"Freda," scolded Éothain, "you cannot assign chores to a warrior! 'Twould be most disrespectful!"
"No, not chores," said Haleth thoughtfully. "Aunt, I am in charge of the welfare of the folk. That means I must keep our people safe from attack. But only boys and old Men remain at Helm's Deep, and most have been trained with neither sword nor bow. I am going to ask Haldir to train them in warcraft!"
Éothain's mother beamed at the excited youth. "Aye, Haleth. You have hit upon a way to kill two birds with one stone. The fortress will be more secure, and the Elf will have a task that will keep his mind—and his body!—from straying."
The excited young Man at once went in search of Haldir. He found the Elf upon the Deeping Wall, gazing wistfully upon the plain.
"Lord Haldir, you have already done much for my folk, and I hesitate to ask you to do more." The young Man paused.
"Go on," Haldir said encouragingly.
"My Lord, my folk have been repairing the Deeping Wall, but it takes more than stones to defend a fortress: it takes warriors—and, well, you are the only warrior hereabouts!"
The Elf's mouth quirked. "I am honored by your faith in me, but I hardly think one Elf—and an injured one at that—could hold off an army of Orcs."
"You would hold off the first ninety-nine," Haleth said slyly, "but I suppose after that you might be a little weary."
Haldir laughed, a deep laugh, a sound new to Haleth, for the Elf had hitherto done little more than smile upon occasion. "And what do you propose to do about the hundredth Orc and his fellows, Haleth?"
"My Lord, only old Men and boys remain at Helm's Deep, and the most of them farmers and farriers. But even a farmer or farrier could learn to wield weapons if only he had the right master."
"And have you found the 'right master', Haleth?"
"You, my Lord. If you are not too weary, of course."
Haleth smiled. "I suppose if I have the wherewithal to hold off ninety-nine Orcs then I could spare the strength to train your folk."
"Thank you, my Lord!"
Still smiling, Haleth turned and accompanied the youth toward the Keep. But just before they entered the Great Hall, the Elf glanced one last time over his shoulder, his gaze lingering upon the horizon.
