NECKLACE
Chapter 3 - Dissension
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JRR Tolkein wrote the books: New Line Cinema made the movie. All characters and the battle event described in this piece are their property.
"He's what?!"
Gimli was starting to get a strong feeling of unreality - most unsettling for a dwarf - and he hurried along in Aragorn's wake, pausing only to grab an additional hand-axe from the hand of a nearby corpse.
Aragorn did not bother to repeat himself. There was neither the time nor the concentration to spare. Theoden and his troops had retreated to the keep. As he and Gimli had slipped out a side door onto the slopes, Aragorn's last view had been of Haldir and two other powerful-looking elves laying their shoulders against the splintering timber frame of the main keep gate to try and make it hold.
The sky seemed still terribly dark. Surely it had to be an hour yet, maybe more, until first light.
Gandalf, where are you…?
"Curse the lad," Gimli was growling, "of all the times he has to choose to get war-happy!"
Aragorn was barely listening: his eyes were searching the battlefield, hoping for some guide. Come on, my friend, he urged, silently, if you still breathe in this world, show me where you are…
And there it was. A sudden, bright flicker as a mane of pale hair whipped around, startling against the sea of dark bodies. Aragorn thumped Gimli on the shoulder and pointed.
"We have our target. Let's go."
By the time they reached him, Legolas was at bay in a ring of Uruk-Hai. The orcs seemed curiously reluctant to actually attack him, and were hanging back, muttering to each other in their guttural voices. Occasionally one or two would make an attempt on the elf's life. The feel of their friends' heads bouncing off their shins was proving a powerful deterrent to the remaining orcs, but the elf could only retain his advantage for so long. More orcs were beginning to gather, sensing elf-blood about to be spilt.
Legolas, apparently undaunted by the ridiculous odds, swore at them colourfully in Elvish and tensed, preparing to charge them.
"Elendil!"
Several Uruk-Hai abruptly vanished under a swing of Aragorn's massive sword-blade.
Quite a few more suddenly found their knee-caps missing and Gimli staring them in the eye with a look of satisfaction as he brought his axes down for the second time.
Making the mistake of turning their backs on the elf to face this new assault, two more orcs felt the brief pressure of Legolas' weight on their shoulders before feeling the altogether sharper sensation of a long knife being sheathed in their spines.
Aragorn, taking opportunity of a lull as the orcs re-grouped, snatched at the elf's arm. "Gimli!" he roared.
The dwarf, chasing a terrified and hopping orc who only had one good foot remaining to him, took heed and about faced, starting the long run back towards Helm's Deep. Aragorn, realising that Legolas still wasn't moving, pulled harder at his sleeve. "Move!" he demanded. "Legolas, are you running mad? There are too many!"
Receiving no response, he made an abortive effort to pick the elf up, bodily, thinking to carry him from immediate danger, see where he was wounded. He was rapidly disillusioned of that plan as Legolas, eyes blazing, nearly gutted him with a sweep of his blade.
The Ranger let go of the elf, who skidded out of his reach, turned, and faced him with a look so terrible that it could have cowed braver men than Aragorn.
"Legolas," said Aragorn, as gently as he could. "It is I. Aragorn. Are we to be enemies, now?"
The elf said nothing. There was a cold, feral cast to his face that the Ranger had never before seen on one of the Sylvan folk, and his eyes….
Dimly, Aragorn thought: Is this the look that Isildur saw on the face of Elrond as my ancestor turned away from his one chance to destroy the Ring?
He could well imagine such a look, perhaps fortified even more with disapproval, on the lord of Rivendell's countenance. Could Arwen ever regard me with such dreadful disdain?
"Do you even hear me…?" he said, aware all the time of the approaching thunder that was surely new Uruk-Hai footsoldiers, marching in step. From the direction of Helm's Deep, he heard Gimli's voice, shouting.
The dwarf had seen what Aragorn, in his confusion over Legolas' behaviour, could not. The sun was at last breaking through the grey sky, and towards the fortress, driving orcs like cattle, the White Rider was returning. Gimli raised his axe in salute as the first troops of the Rohirrim ploughed past him and into the enemy.
The Uruk-Hai were running before the charge of the Riders: all Aragorn saw was a huge orc chieftain heading straight for Legolas who still stood, as if paralysed, with his back turned to it.
"Legolas!" he cried, as the beast, bellowing in fear, drew back a double-handed mace and made to strike. It was going to be too late. He could already see the mace-end bloodied, see the elf's eyes going blank with death. Oh, Elbereth, Gilthoniel…
A horse whickered as it reared up like a shaft of lightning, and the knotted end of a wooden staff made a hollow thunk as it hit the Uruk-Hai between the eyes, knocking it to the ground. Legolas, seeming to come slightly to his senses, looked up into the face of the rider.
Gandalf did not look pleased with the situation. "Would you mind," he snapped, addressing the Ranger, "explaining just what exactly this is all in aid of?"