Hello everyone!
First off, MASSIVE THANKS to all who read, followed, favorited, and especially all who reviewed Chapter 2 of Not Alone. You guys are a treasure, and I hope you enjoy Chapter 3 below, which concludes the story :) I've already sent out responses to those who signed in, and for those who did not, THANK YOU also. I value every single on of your kind encouragements. Thank you Earthdragon, Guest, Idril, lastseventh, vanadium57. For those who wish to review, sign in if you can - I have great long replies when I get to them but if you want to spare yourself from my rambling, that is okay too hahaha :)
There will be no "Afterword" from me this time, and no more fics on reserve to preview or work on and post later - this will be it for some time for me, unless some weird compulsion strikes :) If ever I do post something new, it will be posted first on AO3 to inaugurate my just-opened account, where I plan to also put my work (so that they will be here on FFnet and in another place and my 'eggs aren't just in one basket'). I will be on AO3 under "Mirrorworks" so I hope to see you there too :)
Anyways... Thank you for always welcoming me whenever I rear my head back out in the fandom. No matter how far away we go or how soon or late we return, I hope this community is always a kind of home and safe space for all of us.
As always, constructive C&Cs are welcome, and I thank you all for your time and attention. Stay safe, best wishes, be kind to each other, and I hope you enjoy the last chapter of "Not Alone," below.
Without further ado:
3
They departed for Isengard at dawn, exactly as planned.
The few hours' rest beforehand was revitalizing, and the traveling party set out from Helm's Deep with clear eyes and purpose. Even the steps of the horses beneath them had some zest.
That the land was cleared of the honorable dead while the travelers rested in the night might have had something to do with it – the remains of allies have been lowered to the ground, in hearts but out of sight.
The only remnants of them were mounds of disturbed earth where they were laid to rest, and in the part where the elves were buried, a humble but elegantly rendered stack of stones as a memorial. Legolas, Eomer realized, had already been there earlier in the day to assemble it.
The dead orcs still burned in their pile and would burn for many hours and perhaps even a day or so yet, but by now it only lent those who defeated them a primal sense of strength and victory.
We can win, Eomer let himself think, even for just a little while. The thought thrummed in his veins and he sat taller for it.
At the head of the main party were Theoden and Aragorn... two kings in counsel really, even if the latter had neither crown nor country yet. But Eomer knew greatness when he saw it. He only prayed his hopes would not be in vain.
Just behind them was the wizard Gandalf upon the mighty Mearas Shadowfax – a creature the likes of which Eomer only ever dreamed of, now come alive before him with its silvery mane. As used as he was to great horses, the one upon which the wizard sat was extraordinary for its powerful form and a graceful glide that went with every thundering movement. Its strides ate the earth before him in defiance of his delicate beauty. Eomer sighed wistfully; he could watch him all day. Shadowfax wasn't even mildly bogged down by having two riders, for behind the wizard sat the dwarf, Gimli.
Gloin's son, Eomer learned, was usually to be found sharing a ride with Legolas and had cause against every horse alive save for that one, Arod. Gimli had gotten used to the warhorse. Eomer was glad, for the beast had belonged to one of his fallen Eored. Thankfully, Gimli found little to complain about as he sat upon Shadowfax – who would?! Legolas was on Arod some ways ahead of all of them, to help ensure the safety of the roads.
The elf and a couple of Rohan soldiers were at point a few paces ahead of the main party, but it was also flanked on both sides and at the rear by more men and a few spare horses on leads bearing supplies. Eomer himself was to Theoden's right, and he averted his staring eyes away from Shadowfax when he caught the wizard's wry, knowing gaze.
Eomer looked to the front instead, as they journeyed on.
The road before them was long and the land, diverse. From the barren flatland and mountain rocks near Helm's Deep there would be seemingly endless rolling hills of tall, swaying grass. He loved that part of the Riddermark best, especially on a breezy day when the blades would sway with the gentle winds and turn and twist in a spectrum of greens and yellows. At the heart of their country the dancing, golden field went on as as far as the eye could see, broken only at some point past forever by the skies.
He would die for this land.
Ahead of him, he watched the forms of Legolas and two of his soldiers. It reminded him of the day before, watching the elf do his work from afar. The prince, however, had removed the sling of the previous day in favor of maximizing the utility of his arm. Eomer heard elves healed quickly, and that seemed to be the case here. Already, Legolas had shot down several crebain along their route, preventing these crow-spies from reporting to their masters what the party was up to.
He and Legolas did not meet in the most ideal way, he could not help but recall. They were, after all, on Riddermark land that resembled the venue of that heated first encounter. Eomer had been unwelcoming to the three bedraggled hunters and had received a threat of death by arrow (and princely temper!) for his rudeness. But now, the esteem he held for them had grown immeasurable.
Perhaps the elf's musings moved in the same direction, or he had felt Eomer staring. Either way he glanced behind at the Marshall, and their gazes met for a brief moment.
Eomer gave him a slight nod of greeting, which was promptly returned, before the elf refocused on his job.
# # #
The sun rose and the day became hotter, and the party broke for a short period of rest when they saw a cluster of giant boulders that offered friendly shade. They stopped there to rest the horses and break their fast, but did not make camp as they did not intend to stay long. Food and drink were passed about as the riders looked after the animals and sat for a while on solid ground.
The dwarf, for one, was immensely pleased to do so over a piece of salted meat and some precious elven bread he could not stop talking about. Near him and deep in discussion of what to do about Saruman were Theoden, Aragorn and Gandalf. They barely touched their food in the intensity of their discussions.
Eomer walked around to ensure everyone in the party had proper provisions, and it was in the course of this duty that he saw the elf give a hand signal to the Rohirrim he was with at the edges of their group. It was a request for relief from watch duty, which the soldiers duly acknowledged. With the proper passing of responsibility, the elf then ducked away from the traveling party, out of the shade of the cluster of boulders.
Eomer looked at the space Legolas had vacated thoughtfully, and wondered what the elf was up to. It could have meant nothing more than an extra perimeter check, or looking for some bushes to do some personal business in - they've all done that, along the road. Elves, as strange and wondrous as they were, still had bodies that functioned similarly to humans, didn't they? But something about how Legolas had hurried away nagged at Eomer, and his feelings were only reinforced by how the Rohirrim Legolas had left behind looked at each other, and then at their commander.
They were uneasy when they threw a glance at Eomer, as if seeking assistance. He gave them a nod, and moved away from the shade of their shelter to step back out into the field.
Legolas' form was easy to spot in the flatland, which was broken only by small rolling hills and the occasional large rock. The elf had made good distance while Eomer was hesitating to go after him, and was already a good thirty or so paces away. He staggered behind a boulder and folded forward, and was suddenly invisible in the field.
Eomer jogged after him quickly, and found the elf on hands and knees, curling and uncurling like a sick dog. Eomer went down to his own knees and held the wretched creature at the straining shoulders.
"I will get help-"
The elf grabbed him by the wrist before he could rise to leave. Legolas turned and hauled himself back and upright, to sit leaned against the boulder while still keeping ahold of Eomer's hand.
His dark-rimmed eyes were closed and he was white as snow, and his skin on Eomer's was cold and clammy. He had clamped his mouth shut, and worked his throat against sickness that cramped against his straining belly.
"Legolas..."
The grip tightened to iron, and Eomer fell quiet and let the elf settle, before he could make his case anew.
He sighed. "Very well."
The grip loosened, and Legolas released Eomer to grab instead at his injured left chest with his right hand, while the left restlessly scrambled at his weapon straps and his collar.
"Let me," Eomer said, and he lowered Legolas' hand to loosen his collar. He turned to the straps next, and made quick work of disentangling the elf from his weapons. As Eomer pulled Legolas away from the boulder and maneuvered around the elf to release him from his quiver, Eomer took the opportunity to turn him slightly and push him to lie on his back, flat on the ground.
Legolas groaned in half-hearted protest at the change in position. His belly spasmed again and his throat worked all the harder to keep from being ill, but he stayed lying down. He opened glazed blue eyes briefly, but they were dancing towards the back of his head. Eomer thought he looked about to faint.
"Breathe," he said, calmer than he felt. He arranged Legolas legs together and lifted to brace them over his shoulder. He kept them raised and held them supportively at the ankles, and waited for the elf to regain some color from the change in position.
Legolas' breathing started to even out, and with more deliberate movements now, he raised slightly trembling hands to his face and dug his fingers over his eyes and against the bridge of his nose.
"Dizzy?" Eomer asked.
"Its this heat," Legolas muttered, and from beneath the shade of the hand covering part of his face, Eomer spotted his lip turn up in a wry, self-deprecating smile. "I wish to complain... to the proper authorities... of this otherwise fair land... You've no obliging trees from which a wood-elf...might find some relief."
Eomer snorted at him. "The complaint is soundly rebuffed by the Third Marshall. I think your condition has less to do with our foliage-"
"Or absence thereof..."
"And more to do with being overtired," Eomer finished. "Injured, up until late, risen early and riding point? What did you expect?"
"I knew what to expect," Legolas said wearily. "It's just... not what I hoped. But it can't be helped." He lowered his hands from his face and they settled back down to the injury at his chest. "And most of us are hurting and tired."
"You should have kept the sling on at least."
Legolas opened his eyes, and they were sharper and clearer now for the moment's rest. His voice, though still breathy and thin, had regained some bluster too. "The crebain spies my arrows have plucked from the skies would agree with you."
Eomer grunted in grudging acknowledgement of the elf's prowess, and he lowered Legolas' ankles from his shoulders. But he pushed the elf's heels near his rump and kept the legs folded so they were still raised above the head and the heart. Legolas' color had already significantly improved.
"Speak plainly – is the wound bleeding anew or causing any trouble that we need to address?"
"No," Legolas answered irritably. "It is this heat, as I said."
"You bled much yesterday from what I heard, and I suppose that would account for your body's thirst and weariness," Eomer said. "Can you take water?"
Legolas hesitated, and he gulped nervously. "Perhaps not... just yet."
Eomer nodded in understanding. "You would have to soon. And you know as well as I do - we leave shortly."
"I will be ready," came the quiet promise. "I just needed a moment."
Eomer sat on his haunches as he thought of how to help or whether he even had to. Or had he been dismissed? He wasn't sure. He considered walking away to let the elf do whatever it was he had set out on his own here to do.
Legolas' blue gaze drifted up to the skies, and watched them lazily. His eyes looked like the heavens, and his hair looked like the grass. He seemed almost as if to melt into the earth in his simple brown and green garb, like he could just be swallowed whole. The idea, for whatever reason, compelled Eomer to stay.
He drew out his water skin, and let some of the precious liquid fall to his hands. Then he reached toward Legolas' forehead, hoping the coolness would soothe the dizziness. He lowered his palm to Legolas' skin, and when they touched, Eomer felt a kick of brutal memory.
Was it not just the previous night that he'd gone and done something like this, on a battlefield littered with the dead, touching face after face after face, closing all these unseeing eyes...?
It was a momentary jolt and Eomer got himself quickly back under control, but Legolas' piercing gaze pinned his knowingly.
"I think our minds..." the elf murmured, "they drift in the same perilous direction."
Eomer did them both the favor of not removing his hand, of not letting the painful memory have power over them. Legolas did not shy from it either.
"I am still sorry for your loss," Eomer said.
"They were not my people," Legolas said, just as he had the previous night. And just as that time, he did not sound as detached as he probably meant to. "I am theirs... only because there is no one else. And if I may say – what right do I have for despair, when you have lost more."
"Yes," Eomer said with a wince, "but I did not lose all. And neither of these things mean you cannot mourn them."
"Well someone must, I suppose..."
Legolas closed his eyes and leaned into the other's touch. A tear escaped the corner of his eye, and it vanished into the water that dripped from where Eomer's wet hand held him. Not as easy to disguise were the fresh hitch to his breathing, and Legolas' hands clutched tighter at the wound on his left chest, near the heart.
"Painful?" Eomer asked – uselessly, even to his own mortified ear. But the elf nodded vigorously. It was easier to say the injury hurt, rather than the heart. And with a plausible excuse secured, Legolas' face contorted, and the quiet weeping came in earnest, then.
The injury was hurting for certain, but so were the losses – both perilously close to the heart, but both had just missed it. He would hurt for a while, but he could survive it.
I will be ready, the elf himself had said, I just needed a moment...
Eomer found his rough hand attempting to soothe the other by instinct, rubbing his thumb against the smooth forehead, and threading his hands over the golden hair.
All soldiers wept, at some point. He himself had met that limit many times, only to realize it was not the devastating end but just another bump in the road. There was going to be more pain, but also there was more of him than he knew, able to stand it. There was always someone crawling and stumbling to emerge at the end. There was a self beyond the hurt, a new version of himself to know.
"Did the healers give you anything for it?" Eomer asked.
"Yes," Legolas gasped, and Eomer felt at the interior of the other soldier's tunic, where there was indeed a pack of stripped, dried bark. He took a liberal pinch, and pressed it to the elf's mouth.
"Need... to be aware," Legolas protested. "It diminishes control... and judgment."
"Trust in the company you keep," Eomer said in as authoritative a voice as he could muster. Legolas was a soldier after all, and he hoped that instinct to follow the surest voice in the group would kick in, especially with Legolas' defenses so low. "Take it, and rest on the road. You will ride with me."
"Gimli-"
"Is upon Shadowfax," said Eomer, "and should have no cause for complaint. Arod you need not worry about either. He follows whatever I tell him to do."
"Whatever I tell him," Legolas muttered. "For he is mine now... you will not... have him back."
Eomer barked out a surprised laugh. Anyone who loved his horses, he could also love. "Take the medicine and consider it a deal."
Legolas opened his mouth, and Eomer shoved the healer's concoction in there with grim satisfaction.
They fell into companionable silence, Legolas lying on the ground chewing and Eomer sitting by him, both waiting for the medicine to have its desired effects and for the elf's long-stifled, now-bursting grief to become a more manageable thing.
"I know it doesn't feel like it," Eomer said thoughtfully, "but you've been lucky. Those hits on you could've easily gotten the heart."
"I know," Legolas murmured. "But for more than that. These took me off the field, you see. If not, I would have stayed standing with the others... and I would be lying with them now, too." He took a deep breath. "I always knew death at war was a possibility, even far from home. But for no one to know my customs or even my name, or to know to tell my father of which field my body was in... I did not expect the cruelty of that. My father would have turned the world upside-down, searching... I can only hope what I'd done for the Galadhrim, someone will do for me."
"Believe me, Legolas," Eomer assured him – "any field you fight or the gods forbid, fall in - your father will know. Everyone will know. You're... difficult to miss."
Legolas' lips turned up in a small smile. Eomer wondered if he was finding his way around this steep hill, towards his stronger self on the other side. Or maybe it was the medicine, as disarming as Legolas said it would be.
"On your less remarkable days," Eomer said gently but sincerely, "I will make you a promise. If you should fall, any man or woman of Rohan, for as long as any survive – will know your name and where you lie. And through them, the Elvenking your father will also know. There will never be a fruitless, heartbreaking search."
Legolas looked up at him gratefully, and the blue gaze warmed all the more when Eomer brushed off the last of the tears. Legolas took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
"I'm better now."
Eomer snorted in skepticism.
"At any rate I hear Aragorn approaching," Legolas said urgently. "Help me rise quickly, else he will keep me here until he is satisfied, and we would all be wasting valuable time."
Eomer was not quite inclined to let the elf rise yet himself, but Legolas grabbed his shoulders for purchase and he cooperated with the effort. By the time he heard Aragorn's discreet footfalls just behind him, Legolas was seated and alert.
"What's happened?" Aragorn asked, rushing to his knees beside his friend.
"I was giving the Marshal constructive criticism on local topography," Legolas said gaily. "His land needs more trees."
"He is giddy, in pain and overheated," said Eomer pointedly, "and needs water, shade and rest."
Aragorn looked displeased but not at the elf – at himself. It lined his already serious, weary features. "You shouldn't have come. We would have found a way-"
Legolas huffed at him impatiently, and then looked behind Aragorn at the sound of another new arrival: Gimli the Dwarf.
"Must it always be a parade?" he groaned.
Aragorn, though his eyes still looked worried, chuckled at Legolas fondly. "You two keep following me around so – I suppose so!"
Eomer looked from the man to the elf, and then to the dwarf in the near distance who was rapidly making his way. When he met them on a field like this they were bedraggled and mismatched, and as if their motley crew couldn't get any stranger, they were looking for hobbits abducted by orcs. Hobbits! He would have been more amused and charitable than suspicious and hostile, if he did not have such a heavy heart that day.
"What business does an elf, a man and a dwarf have in the Riddermark?" he had demanded of them, "Speak quickly!"
His impression of the trio had since been molded in the opposite extreme – for before him was a King, a Prince, and he wouldn't even be surprised anymore if the dwarf too was of significant standing. They had titles but more than that were their deeds. Back upon these fields though...
The elf and the man started swatting at each other, for Aragorn wanted access to the wound and the elf was having none of it.
... They were somewhat ridiculous again, and how in the world were these people so capable of great things?
"The Marshal checked on me and was satisfied!" Legolas argued.
"I inquired of the wound," Eomer corrected carefully, not wanting to be part of any of it, "He assured me of its decent state. I believed him."
"Apparently my word still counts in some corners," Legolas growled at his friend.
Aragorn sighed. Legolas sighed. For some reason it was in equal resignation of each other.
"Then I believe your word," Aragorn said, "And I will trust in Lord Eomer's good judgment, for how can both be beneath me?"
Legolas sagged against the rock in relief. "And I will cooperate duly."
"The sling goes back on," Aragorn said.
"Aragorn-!"
"So quick to change your mind?" Aragorn said wryly. "It is either that, mellon-nin, or I send you back to Helm's Deep with princely escort."
"I will keep it immobile and I will rest," Legolas countered, "I promise. I've already arranged to ride with Eomer. Just please do not put me in that contraption again – the roads are still dangerous, and I need to be able to react quickly. I swear I will only move it at need."
Aragorn looked at Eomer. "He's made arrangements with you?"
Legolas was tiring and clearly unhappy about the cross-checking of his information. He waved at Aragorn irritably as if to tell him to do whatever he wanted, while he folded his arms over his knees and lowered his head between them.
"The other way around actually," Eomer answered warily, wondering how his name kept coming up in this conversation. "But I suppose the outcome is the same."
Aragorn smiled and his gaze had a light inside of it that was so warm it was near to burning, and Eomer was almost embarrassed by the generosity of it, the nakedness of it, and he did not know why.
"Thank you," Aragorn mouthed at him over oblivious Legolas' lowered head – soundless, but it echoed in Eomer's heart. The both knew it was not only for offering to bear Legolas with him on the ride.
He is like a brother to me...
Eomer gave Aragorn a brief nod, a jerk of the head that freed him from the weight of Aragorn's stare, from the weight of that trust and gratitude.
"What's happened?" Gimli demanded when he arrived, as he too sank to his knees with his friends.
"Sort it out amongst yourselves," Eomer said abruptly. He shoved his water skin into Aragorn's hands and rose to his feet, before he could be enmeshed in all of it all over again. "Make sure he drinks. And master elf -"
Legolas raised bleary eyes up at him.
"I will seek you when it's time to leave," Eomer said with finality. He walked away, and did not even turn when they started to talk about him.
"Why is the horsemaster ornery again?" Gimli asked in a loud whisper.
"Maybe he dislikes you," Legolas teased.
"Everyone likes me!"
"Even the elf likes you," Aragorn said with a chuckle before reminding said elf, "Legolas – water."
What business does an elf, a man and a dwarf have in the Riddermark...?
They were looking for their friends, when Eomer met them. They were looking after each other, now.
Sometimes that is all that is left and when the gods will it – it is more than enough.
THE END
09 April 2021
Thank you for reading. I sincerely hope anyone who reads this has people in their lives who make them feel - even with all the challenges we are facing - that whatever they have is enough. Best wishes to all and stay safe!