Title: Battle Beneath the Trees
Disclaimer: I claim none of Tolkien's creations.
Author's Note: Again, you will not find out the main character's name. Thanks for the reviews everyone. Now why would any of you think that I wouldn't be continuing? I can't give up on this now.
The "~" mark denotes a flashback that should be in italics. The last time I tried to use italics, that did not appear, so I've done this instead.
Warnings: War violence, death, and dead bodies (not too gruesome, but there all the same).
Chapter Two: In the Midst
***
Cúmaen led them south, farther south than even Prince Taurost's cavalry. They were to fight off the orcs and spiders and other creatures of darkness there. He could remember the days when evil had not been so present in their lives. He remembered going with his mother south to the village of Harndor to see the dancers and hear the singers. A wood of pine trees, he remembered well, surrounded Harndor. Before orc parties had raided it constantly, the village had been wealthy and prosperous. They had dancers that everyone marveled to see. The leading family had come from a long line of warriors and claimed to be able to trace the family back to the First Age. He remembered all too well the day when the King sent Prince Dútawar and twenty warriors to evacuate Harndor's dwindling numbers. He did not know the whole story, only that in the end, the people of Harndor were living in a refugee camp on what used to be archery fields. Harndor was a tragedy, and one that did not end with the evacuation of its people.
The farther south his party went, the more he felt to presence of evil and with it fear. He was more afraid than he had ever been. The fear on him was more than fear for himself. He worried for his mother, for the warriors around him, for the royal family, for the refugees, and for the healers who would weave their way without weapon through the battle to reach the wounded. He drew back his bow and felt the slightest pang of regret for becoming a warrior. He could have worked within the palace as a servant as his mother had wished, but he had chosen what he believed a more honorable profession. The moment orc cries reached his ears; the order to fire came from Cúmaen. Some arrows found their mark; others fell useless to the ground or stuck in a tree. Soon the fight would come too close for bows to be of much use. His sword was ready in its scabbard. He was scarcely aware that the undergrowth of the forest floor was thinning.
The sword was not heavy in his hand as the seasoned warriors said and as it had been in the past. Instead, it was not there. He felt no weight, for the blade became part of his body. It was as though his own blood pulsed through the cold metal. Each thought that entered his mind, the sword shared with him. His training had become instinct--instinct guided by innate instinct. Still he did not notice that the underbrush thinned. But as of yet, that mattered little.
***
The queen sat in her chamber, not desiring any part in what happened outside the palace walls. Outside she knew that the others stood along this side of the river and yelled to the nearest warriors. Some only watched, as she knew the wounded warriors did. They wished to watch their comrades fight even though they could not. She did not like the combat. It had taken nearly all her strength to see her family off. She had been caught between screaming and bursting into tears for something--something other than shadow of fear on her heart--told her not all would return.
She knew there were things that she could be doing. She knew that she could be of use in many places. The healers needed as much help as they could get whether one had any experience in the healing arts of not. In the throne room, food was being served. In the banquet halls and dancing rooms, refugees and citizens of the city camped. The king had ordered all within the palace for he greatly feared the power of the orcs. In the dungeons and storerooms, the food and water supply was monitored and guarded. In the halls, families waited anxiously for news of their loved ones. The people needed a leader now, but Aduial did not wish to leave her own chamber. She feared going out, for then the world would come in. She feared more than that the stern faces of messengers from the battlefields. Sometimes they smiled gravely, other times they frowned sadly, and still other times they showed no emotion at all.
~"Your Majesty… I come with the news that the body of Prince Tirn was found in a clearing today."
"What do you mean?"
"I regret to inform you that Prince Tirn is no longer living."~
She did not remember what had happened after the messenger left her. She did not remember much of that time at all. Only she remembered Leithian's screams and Legolas's silence. Those things had frightened her. Tirn's death had frightened her. When Thranduil sent Legolas and Thalion, the young leader of a southern village, to Rivendell, she cried and pleaded with him to recall his decision. But her fears left her for a time when Legolas sent word from Rivendell that he had arrived safely, though he could not say the same for his partner. But nearly three months after that, without another word from her son, one of those grimly smiling messengers came to her.
~"Your Majesty, earlier this week the body of an elf was found in the mountains. This elf had been caught in a rockslide and was so broken that we could not discern who he or she was. This elf is most likely your son, Prince Legolas."
"No…"
"I am sorry, your Majesty."~
Aduial did not believe him; two messengers from Rivendell had gone missing at about the same time. Taurost thought the elf to be one of them, not Legolas. Legolas had dark hair, this elf was blond, and Legolas carried a knife, not a sword. That had been enough to satisfy Taurost, but not Aduial. She waited always for the proof that her child was truly gone forever from her.
Suddenly, someone rapped on her door. "Come in," she called, dashing tears from her eyes. A servant girl bowed to her and waited for permission to speak. Aduial gave a nod and the girl said hoarsely, "Fire. Fire and fear, your Majesty. The fighters have been driven back and the orcs are setting fires."
Aduial drew her knees up to her chest and rested her head on them. She let a long breath of combined anger, fear, and relief. Till the end of time she would fear a knock at her door. Then she looked up at the servant again and asked softly, "Will the river and the bridge protect us?" The girl bowed her head and said, "I am not the person to ask such things of, your Majesty." Aduial sighed and closed her eyes.
***
The fighting had become fierce. In some cases, hand to hand literally meant punches and strikes and kicks. He still had his sword and though it was slowly becoming dull and the real day was starting to fade away, he fought on. The trees to the west of him were burning and he heard screams of animal, foul creature, and elf from them. But he could not pay them any heed, for he had his own problems to attend to. Before him was an orc taller and broader than most and his scimitar was not dull by any means. He was fighting harder than he had been and he felt blood going down his arm. But strangely he felt no pain from whatever wound he had.
The orc was laughing at him. It was a harsh sound. He knew he was being driven back and being cornered. He knew this but could do nothing to correct it. He was losing his focus as the fire approached him and his fellow warriors fell. The orc did not fail to see this weakness, but did not hurry to go in for the kill. The orc seemed to be enjoying watching the elf falter. The orc led him on for a while, driving him back, stabbing at places where the elf's guard was open, but always pulling back before striking him. Finally, just before the elf fell to the ground in defeat he lashed out at his legs, knocking the elf down, but not seriously wounding him, for the blade had turned and the flat side had hit the elf. But the orc failed to realize this.
He lay still on the earth and cocked his head to the side. He was attempting something he was told never to do. He wondered if in this position, the orc would think his neck was broken. He hoped the orc would disappear so he could make his way towards the remainder of his troop. Play dead, he told himself. The orc doesn't know you aren't dead. He held his breath and closed his eyes. He listened to the earth for the sound of the orc leaving him. And he was rewarded. Soon the orc went off to find some other prey. Cautiously he opened one eye, then the other. So focused had he been in that instant on his attacker that he did not notice that no other elf was near him. In the distance, above the sound of the fires, he heard more strange animal cries. They were the orc war cries.
His first instinct was to run. He did not hesitate in following that instinct either. He paused only to grab a nearby stone with hopes of whetting his blade before he had to fight again. The stone wasn't the right type, but it would have to serve. He followed the path of the trees and the path of the brushwood. He gradually became aware that the undergrowth was disappearing and the scent of pine filling the air. He ran on with no other purpose than to put as much distance between him and the orcs as possible.
His arm was beginning to throb without mercy. He dared not look for fear of seeing the wound and losing his already slipping concentration. Tree roots reached out to trip him and tree trunks moved to block his way. At long last, his path took him to a large clearing. He paused just within the bordering trees, listening. He heard only distant flames crackling. He stepped out to survey the place. There were ruins of buildings and trees cast down and burnt. Glancing up at the sky, he went towards one of the buildings. He did not know what drew him there or what he would find. Somewhere in the back of his mind he hoped that maybe someone was still living in this place and would help him. The blood from his arm had slowed and clotted, but it hurt terribly. For the first time, he felt hungry and tired. He did not want to fight anymore.
Carefully, he picked his way over burnt timbers and fallen stones until he came to the remains of what had once been a small home. The dim flash of metal caught his eye and he moved towards it. With one hand he pushed away some decaying wood and loose stones. There was a knife. His eyes followed the blade to the hilt and to what held it. He stood fixated with horror at the sight of the skeletal hand that came from beneath a large stone and grasped the knife. For long minutes he stood there, staring wide-eyed. Then, regaining his senses, he knelt down and pressed his thumb against the blade. It was still quite sharp. Grimacing, he pried open the dead hand and took the dagger. Then he replaced the wood to hide the hand.
***
The Crown Prince crouched low on his horse and aimed blows at his enemy. He entwined his fingers in the mane and stretched to reach. Arrows whistled by his head. His cloak billowed up behind him in a gust of hot air that warned him of approaching flame. He checked his mount and twisted him round to get away from the fire. He sat up to survey the scene around him for half a second before crouching down again. In that half second, an arrow hit him in the back. He lurched forward and fell hard against his horse's neck. Twisting his whole hand into the mane of his horse, he shut his eyes against the pain racing up his back and into his skull. He let the horse carry him back towards the palace.
***
He sheathed his sword and held the knife out in front of him. It was the only blade that would be of any use to him now. He went quickly through the forest, away from the ruined village in the clearing. Though tired and hungry, he knew he had to move. With orcs and spiders on all sides and fire fast approaching it was unsafe to stay in any one place for too long. He hoped he was not going towards the flames. He hoped that he went towards his troop of warriors under Cúmaen's command. He had lost them.
The wood around him was silent. The only sound to be heard was his panting. It made him uneasy in mind and heart. It was clear that this part of the forest had seen fighting this day, for arrows and broken blades littered the ground and stuck in singed trees. He went more slowly through here, wondering where the warriors who had fought here had gone. He saw neither body of elf nor orc. What had happened? As he neared the end of this stretch of land, he saw something that curdled his blood. He froze and screamed so loud that his voice went hoarse. Before him he saw something he had never seen before. He saw something that made him sick and angry. He saw a new reason for hating the orcs.
***
To be continued…