NECKLACE
Chapter 4
Disclaimer: JRR Tolkein wrote the books: New Line Cinema made the movie.
Yes. I hadn't the heart to kill him off, Mr Jackson. I'm sorry…*pats Haldir on the back reassuringly*
Gandalf dismounted from Shadowfax and strode forward to Aragorn and Legolas, his eyes flicking between the man and the elf in an accusatory fashion.
"Well?" he growled. "What do you do out here, in the thick of the battle, where you would surely have been killed needlessly? Why are you not defending Theoden and the men of the Mark?"
He turned now, as if sensing something from Aragorn, and glowered at Legolas from under his thick white brows.
"I am looking at you, son of Thranduil," he said, evenly.
Legolas met his gaze steadily: Gandalf was one of few folk in Middle-earth who could look an elf in the eye and not be awed or cowed. The old wizard reached out an arm, snagged the elf's collar, and dragged him forward until they were almost nose-to-nose. Aragorn held his breath. When he had previously laid a hand on Legolas, he had nearly been gutted for his trouble.
But Legolas never moved. For a long moment he and Gandalf locked eyes, and then the wizard let him go with a long exhalation of breath that sounded like exasperation.
"Old friend," he said, wearily, "take this elf back to the keep and make sure he gets to the healers amongst the people of Rohan."
Aragorn was in the process of stepping forward when he realised that Gandalf was not addressing him. The horse Shadowfax brushed past him, gently, dropping his head to nudge at Legolas's arm. Long white fingers grasped the horse's mane, and Legolas, moving unusually gracelessly for one of his kind, pulled himself up bareback.
"Go," said Gandalf, softly. Shadowfax made an agreeable equine hhuh sound in his throat, and trotted off towards the Deeping Wall.
Aragorn turned to him and reached out a hand in greeting.
"We are glad to see you again, Gandalf," he said. "Certainly, I had little hope of holding Helm's Deep had you not returned as you described."
Gandalf's dour expression softened a little. "Did not Haldir of Lorien come to you?"
Aragorn glanced down at his feet: dead orcs and dead elves from the last retreat of Lorien. The wizard followed his look and nodded, slowly.
"Tell me then," he said, "of what has come to pass with Legolas today that he seems inclined to put his immortality in peril."
Eowyn of Rohan dabbed dutifully at a long, thin cut on one of Haldir's impressively high cheekbones. The elf shifted impatiently under her ministrations, but did not say anything. The shield-maiden felt inclined to slap him.
As if it was not enough that she was not allowed to fight with her kindred to defend her home from Saruman! Now she was reduced to playing nursemaid to arrogant elves who should be more grateful…it was humiliating.
Haldir shuffled his feet again and sighed.
"All right," snapped Eowyn, rather more harshly than she had intended. "I'm finished. You can go."
He shot out of the chair as if scalded and stalked from the room. Eowyn scowled.
Elves!
Made more like cats than people, she thought, watching Haldir prowl out into the corridor and turn left, swiftly. Beautiful, arrogant, deadly if roused. Eowyn had met few of them during her lifetime, but still she could not stomach them.
"My lady," called one of the guards, "you are needed."
Eowyn turned, caught a glimpse of white-blond hair and was preparing to give Haldir a piece of her mind when she realised that this was Legolas, companion to Lord Aragorn - and he looked exhausted.
"He came in on the White Rider's horse," another guard was saying. Eowyn, looking for injuries, circled the elf, once. One pale hand was clasped across his throat, fingers grasping at his collar.
"Where are you hurt?" she asked him, and, when he did not reply, repeated the question. "My lord - where are you hurt?"
The elf looked at her with eyes that seemed huge and haunted. Oh please, thought Eowyn, watching his fingers grip at the fabric of his collar-line, please don't let his throat be cut…is that why he will not speak? Lord Aragorn has already lost his lady…let him not lose his friend as well…
He did not resist when Eowyn enlisted the help of the two Rohirrim to lead him to the nearby couch, and he lay quite still as she gently pulled his fingers away from his neck. To her vast relief, there was no damage hidden there.
"How does he fare?"
Gandalf was stood in the doorway, leaning on his staff. For once, he did look old. His shoulders were slumped with weariness and there was great strain etched in the lines of his face.
"Not well, Mithrandir," Eowyn said. "But I cannot find a wound to treat, save these few scrapes on his arms."
Gandalf entered and sat down on the edge of the couch, watching the elf, whose eyes were closed. "I do not think his wounds are to be treated by normal means, for they are not normal wounds," he said, and he lifted his staff, laying it across the elf's chest. The wood seemed to glow, faintly in the dim light. Gandalf leant in, very close, and said, gently but firmly: "Tell me."
"It was too long ago," said Legolas, in Elvish, sounding tired. His eyes remained closed, and he lay as still as death. "It doesn't matter anymore…"
Aargh! A cliffhanger..and I swore I'd never write one…but the truth is I have the worst writer's block right now and I hope you don't hate this chapter, because when I read it back it feels disjointed. Please R & R…all reviews read and appreciated.