Author's Note: The song is an adaptation from one of Tolkien's other songs. I mixed words up to make it fit. So I only take fifty percent credit.
For whoever asked....*laughs* I don't know where Theoden is. I wanted the fic to be mostly from Aragorn and Legolas's points of view, so I kinda moved him to the backdrop. (Don't really like Theoden, anyway. Too King Lear-ish for me.) You don't see him almost throughout Helm's Deep, anyway. So...yeah. I may bring him back into the fic later.
Thunder Marching
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Legolas stood out on the parapet, ready for battle.
When he saw Tamor coming towards him, young face fierce with black stripes painted across his cheeks from a paste of ash and water, Legolas turned away, trying to hide his fear, which yammered in his mind like a trapped animal.
Tamor was wearing a full-length breastplate that was too big for him, dragging at the waist. He wore an old, battered helm with a rearing horse, then symbol of the Riddermark, at its front. The sword slung across his back was dented and seemed nothing more than a dull club. His bow was obviously his own; worn, but well cared for.
Not a warrior, a child, Legolas thought. He wanted to turn the boy back, back towards the caves with the women and children, but Tamor had denied him before, and to try and urge the boy to hide again would just be an offense that the boy wouldn't heed, anyway. It would only make him resent Legolas, so Legolas decided to keep his mouth shut, and focus on his own fate.
He looked down on the approaching army of orcs and the Wild Men of the borders. They filled the plains like an advancing wave, their torches glinting in the storm's darkness like a skyfield of fell stars. The ground shook and cried out with their coming. It was a terrible sound. Legolas had never seen so many warriors in his life.
He could die.
Legolas had always had terrible nightmares, all through his life, about being shut in. In the caves of Moria, deep beneath the earth, surrounded and outnumbered by goblins and orcs, his nightmares had been realized, and he had spent that whole week in the dark in utter horror. He felt the return of that same dread, here in a fortress of cold stone and unfeeling rock, standing in the starless dark, with thousands of the Enemy marching down on them.
No way out. He was at Aragorn's side, for better or worse. The time for retreat had passed. His people were gone. To retreat now meant not only abandoning Aragorn to death, but also to live out his life alone in the dark, dangerous forests of Mirkwood.
Aragorn had been the only person to know about these dreams. Aragorn would hear him, shaking and calling out in his sleep, and wake him up, speaking softly to him like a child until he could try and go back to sleep, trembling and cold and trying to convince himself that it was only a dream, that the lights had not been taken out, that a cave would not prove to be his tomb.
Instead, it would be a rampart. A rampart, with the stars hiding in their grief, and a storm raging before him and all around him.
He did not wear armor like the Men. He needed his agility, his balance, and armor did not account for either. But standing here, without armor, he knew that his nightmares were coming to him. And that Aragorn would not be there this time, to wake him up and soothe him out of them. Because Aragorn and Gimli were trapped here, too. If they found themselves sleeping now, they would not have the chance to wake. It would be a slumber of the more eternal type.
He knew that people would die. He was equally aware that he could be one of them. He knew, somehow, he was going to die, that all of them would. Even with the Legions of Light, they were still more than three times outnumbered.
Legolas knew he could handle it. There was no point in despairing. If it was his fate to die in this business, than so be it. Right? Even Elves could fall. Be cool, he thought to himself, taking a deep breath. Be composed. That's a good word. Go to death with dignity.
Bullshit. Maybe Aragorn could die as one of his people, but all of Legolas's soul stormed against this battle. It raged against his certain death, and his decision to stay and see it play out.
// I may never see the Great Woods again, // he thought, and shivered.
Gimli approached on his other side, standing beside him. "Ready, Master Elf?" His voice was a rather chipper rumble.
Legolas looked down at the dwarf and said nothing. What did Gimli expect him to say? They were going to their deaths. Even with the help of Lorien, he knew that if they lived to see the dawn, it would be a miracle of the Valar. And they all knew it.
Gimli read the fear in the elf's eyes and fell silent. He nodded and dropped his gaze. He tried to look over the rampart, but his height disabled him. "Blast it all, this bloody wall! Could you not have picked a better vantage point?"
Despite his insistent fear, Legolas forced a smile. "Would you have me describe it to you, or would you like me to find you a box?" // Do you wish to see your own death so badly, mellon-nin? For Valar's sake...be glad for your height and blindness. //
There was a returning good-natured grumble that sounded vaguely obscene. Legolas did not catch it. He closed his eyes, swallowing hard. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, a frantic drumming.
"-do they do it?"
Legolas opened his eyes, looking over at Gimli. "What?"
"I said, how do they do it?" Gimli repeated, looking around at the elves in wonder. While the men stood silent and fearful, swords and spears glimmering in the torchlights as their hands trembled, the elves seemed completely at ease. They stood about talking in their whispery singsong voices, gesturing, laughing softly. There was a slight hint of intensity, as if the elves were tightly strung bowstrings, ready to snap, but it was barely noticeable.
The dwarf looked at Legolas. Legolas began to answer, but suddenly, Tamor's voice came from his other side. It was clear. Strong. Questioning.
"They are not afraid, Master Elf. They aren't afraid at all. Are they mad? Is it sorcery?"
An elf of Haldir's regiment began to hum. So did the others, humming in perfect harmony. Then, they began to sing, a haunting melody that was barely audible beneath the storm. Their serene, solemn voices were heartbreaking. Legolas could hardly breathe. Their song called to the strange elvish core of his heart, the part of his heart he had left to call his own.
::Under Mountain dark and tall
The Rohan Men protect their Hall
The orcs will die, the Enemy fly
And ever so their foes shall fall::
::Our swords are sharp, our spears are long
Our arrows swift, the Gate is strong
Our hearts are bold in shadows cold
Horsemasters no more shall suffer wrong::
"You're wrong," Legolas said, glancing around at the elves. He could see it in them, even if Gimli and the boy could not. The way they sang, eyes closed, shutting out the darkness, turning their gaze inward for a dose of pleasant memories, remembering warm drowsy sunlight on their faces and the smell of leaves, like a gladiator calling for wine before a battle.
"They have lived for thousands of years," Legolas whispered softly, still staring out into the darkness. "They know that for all the ages of their lives, all could be in vain. They could each of them fall tonight. All it would take would be one blow, one arrow, to destroy centuries of life."
He looked back at Tamor and Gimli, his expression unreadable.
"They're terrified," he said, simply.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Silence. Total silence, besides the sound of the approaching hordes, their heavy, horrid feet making the ground thunder. Above them, the sky crashed and bellowed. Lightning lit the night, flickering on pale faces.
"I don't want to die here, not like this.." Legolas whispered silently in Elvish, and looked over at Tamor. The boy was also whispering to himself, mouthing the words. It took him a few moments to read what the boy was saying, murmuring to himself over and over, like a litany.
"I am Tamor, son of Tandir, and I will dare the goblin's arrow, the orc's blade, the warg's maw. I am Tamor, son of Tandir, and no matter what the suffering, I will not commit my heart to sleep until my lifeblood runs red from battle wounds and my head is cloven from my body. I am Tamor, son of Tandir, and I will not abandon my king or my duty, living or dead, 'til I have completed my course and victory is within my grasp. I am Tamor, son of Tandir. This is what is asked of me, this is what I yield."
Next to this boy, who thrummed with terror and was brave in the face of it, Legolas felt like a coward. He took a deep, cleansing breath and fell silent. What replaced his fear and doubt and horror was only something, some warlike creature hidden deep inside him, cold and detached and precise. He distanced himself from the carnage to come.
// Aragorn...I believe. I believe... // Legolas thought, closing his eyes again. Another deep breath. He found his center, pulling the night around him like a protective cloak.
"Good luck, Gimli."
"And to you, Legolas. May we all live to see the dawn."
Legolas smiled gravely. "Right."
Around them, other soldiers of the Rohan spoke among themselves.
"There aren't enough shields to go around..."
"Or swords. Of course, we got to fight in the bloody dark...But look how slow they're moving, though."
"Hell, fast enough for me. Look at 'em all."
A rough answer. "Just give the dumb dark bastards a taste of your fist."
"I'd rather not encourage them to get any taste of me, if it's all the same to you."
Coarse, nervous laughter.
"Be quiet," Legolas snapped firmly, and amazingly, they did.
Next to him, Legolas saw Tamor raise his bow with the rest of the archers.
Nearby, further down the wall, Haldir was speaking to his archers in swift, confident Elvish, as smooth and flowing as a cold stream. Listening in, Legolas realized that Haldir was trying to encourage them. There was something in that suave, sweeping stream of conviction that was unnerving.
// Haldir doesn't believe, either, // Legolas thought, a cold chill sweeping him. // No matter what pretty words he told Aragorn. He doesn't believe we can hold the Deep, and he doesn't believe in the Men, and he doesn't believe even his own can help them. But he'll be damned before he'll let them know it. So he's trying to make us believe, instead of himself. //
Legolas felt a swell of affection for Haldir, for his concern and for his attempt to keep the morale up. He also hated him for not believing.
// You came out of love for Aragorn, not out of faith in Rohan, // Legolas thought, and shook his head a little, turning back towards the battlefield.
"All right, you curs," Haldir snarled in Elvish, smiling grimly. His warriors smiled back at him. "Let's see how you can shoot."
The elvish captain turned to Tamor, who stood armed at the end of his regiment. He switched to Common Tongue, looking down at the boy. "You, little horsemaster. Our job is to keep them off the walls. Make sure they do not reach it. If they do, ignore them unless they come at you. The swordsmen backing us will thump them down. Go for the head first. If you can't get that, go for the weak points of the armor, armpits, upper thigh, neck."
"What about the eyes?" Tamor asked.
"Yes, eyes are good, too. If you can hit an orc's eye in the dark," Haldir added doubtfully. "Not many mortals can."
"I can hit a sparrow's eye after moonset. I could shoot before I could ride, and I could ride almost before I could walk," Tamor replied coolly, bristling with indignation.
Haldir laughed softly, grinning at the boy's attitude. "Ah, well, at least you have spirit. If you can bring the fell things down, do so however you wish. If it's so simple for you, just don't make it look too easy, eh? You'll make the rest of us look bad."
Legolas wanted to say something to match their bluffing bravado, something to chase away his fear, but he could find nothing to say. He only stood, and watched, and waited, and listened.
The Dark Army approached the rampart and stopped. They howled and slammed their lances and clubs and spears and swords into the ground, making it shake. Thunder growled across the sky. Far on the horizon, Legolas could see the flank of the hordes. Barely. His heart lurched in his chest.
"Hold," Haldir said, his voice filled with a deliberately bored, smooth, oh-isn't-this-fun tone. "Hold."
Rain began to fall, clattering on armor and helmets, capturing firelight in wet hair.
"Great. Just lovely," Haldir muttered. Not loudly, but loudly enough for Legolas's sharp ears to catch him.
Legolas pulled his bow up, aiming carefully into the sea of foes. Next to him, Gimli raised his axe in preparation.
"Look lively, dearhearts," Haldir added in the darkness near him, a smirk in the elvish captain's tough, polished voice. Someone laughed, but in the darkness, there was no way to tell who it had been. A nameless elvish face beneath a helm.
"Godspeed, my warriors. Go with my love and the love of The Lady," Haldir purred confidently, raising his own bow.
"Send them back to the dark!" someone shouted. It was a mortal voice.
"I am the son of Tandir!!" the dark golden-haired boy shouted near Legolas, making the elf look over at him. A thunderbolt lit up the sky. The Rohan boy glared out into the darkness with fierce defiance in his voice and rain on his face. Lightning glimmered on his helmet and flashed in his eyes for a moment. When he spoke again, he had to shriek over the thunder. "Come for me, orcs! I am Tamor!!"
Someone else took up the call. "I am Einskaldir, son of Elias! Come if you dare!"
"I am Isgrimnur, guard of the Mark!"
"I am Miriamele, Shield-Maiden of Rohan! Go back to your tunnels, foul things!"
The hordes just howled and stamped louder, making the plains echo. Their rumbling cries answered the thunder.
An arrow flew over the wall and found its mark. Someone had decided that words were not enough of a warning.
The declarations stopped, and there was a collective silence. No one knew who had shot it. Haldir scowled, opening his mouth to scream for them to hold the line, what the blasted hells did they think they were doing? But it was too late.
The battle had begun.
~~~~~~~~~~~~ Review, yeah?
For whoever asked....*laughs* I don't know where Theoden is. I wanted the fic to be mostly from Aragorn and Legolas's points of view, so I kinda moved him to the backdrop. (Don't really like Theoden, anyway. Too King Lear-ish for me.) You don't see him almost throughout Helm's Deep, anyway. So...yeah. I may bring him back into the fic later.
Thunder Marching
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Legolas stood out on the parapet, ready for battle.
When he saw Tamor coming towards him, young face fierce with black stripes painted across his cheeks from a paste of ash and water, Legolas turned away, trying to hide his fear, which yammered in his mind like a trapped animal.
Tamor was wearing a full-length breastplate that was too big for him, dragging at the waist. He wore an old, battered helm with a rearing horse, then symbol of the Riddermark, at its front. The sword slung across his back was dented and seemed nothing more than a dull club. His bow was obviously his own; worn, but well cared for.
Not a warrior, a child, Legolas thought. He wanted to turn the boy back, back towards the caves with the women and children, but Tamor had denied him before, and to try and urge the boy to hide again would just be an offense that the boy wouldn't heed, anyway. It would only make him resent Legolas, so Legolas decided to keep his mouth shut, and focus on his own fate.
He looked down on the approaching army of orcs and the Wild Men of the borders. They filled the plains like an advancing wave, their torches glinting in the storm's darkness like a skyfield of fell stars. The ground shook and cried out with their coming. It was a terrible sound. Legolas had never seen so many warriors in his life.
He could die.
Legolas had always had terrible nightmares, all through his life, about being shut in. In the caves of Moria, deep beneath the earth, surrounded and outnumbered by goblins and orcs, his nightmares had been realized, and he had spent that whole week in the dark in utter horror. He felt the return of that same dread, here in a fortress of cold stone and unfeeling rock, standing in the starless dark, with thousands of the Enemy marching down on them.
No way out. He was at Aragorn's side, for better or worse. The time for retreat had passed. His people were gone. To retreat now meant not only abandoning Aragorn to death, but also to live out his life alone in the dark, dangerous forests of Mirkwood.
Aragorn had been the only person to know about these dreams. Aragorn would hear him, shaking and calling out in his sleep, and wake him up, speaking softly to him like a child until he could try and go back to sleep, trembling and cold and trying to convince himself that it was only a dream, that the lights had not been taken out, that a cave would not prove to be his tomb.
Instead, it would be a rampart. A rampart, with the stars hiding in their grief, and a storm raging before him and all around him.
He did not wear armor like the Men. He needed his agility, his balance, and armor did not account for either. But standing here, without armor, he knew that his nightmares were coming to him. And that Aragorn would not be there this time, to wake him up and soothe him out of them. Because Aragorn and Gimli were trapped here, too. If they found themselves sleeping now, they would not have the chance to wake. It would be a slumber of the more eternal type.
He knew that people would die. He was equally aware that he could be one of them. He knew, somehow, he was going to die, that all of them would. Even with the Legions of Light, they were still more than three times outnumbered.
Legolas knew he could handle it. There was no point in despairing. If it was his fate to die in this business, than so be it. Right? Even Elves could fall. Be cool, he thought to himself, taking a deep breath. Be composed. That's a good word. Go to death with dignity.
Bullshit. Maybe Aragorn could die as one of his people, but all of Legolas's soul stormed against this battle. It raged against his certain death, and his decision to stay and see it play out.
// I may never see the Great Woods again, // he thought, and shivered.
Gimli approached on his other side, standing beside him. "Ready, Master Elf?" His voice was a rather chipper rumble.
Legolas looked down at the dwarf and said nothing. What did Gimli expect him to say? They were going to their deaths. Even with the help of Lorien, he knew that if they lived to see the dawn, it would be a miracle of the Valar. And they all knew it.
Gimli read the fear in the elf's eyes and fell silent. He nodded and dropped his gaze. He tried to look over the rampart, but his height disabled him. "Blast it all, this bloody wall! Could you not have picked a better vantage point?"
Despite his insistent fear, Legolas forced a smile. "Would you have me describe it to you, or would you like me to find you a box?" // Do you wish to see your own death so badly, mellon-nin? For Valar's sake...be glad for your height and blindness. //
There was a returning good-natured grumble that sounded vaguely obscene. Legolas did not catch it. He closed his eyes, swallowing hard. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, a frantic drumming.
"-do they do it?"
Legolas opened his eyes, looking over at Gimli. "What?"
"I said, how do they do it?" Gimli repeated, looking around at the elves in wonder. While the men stood silent and fearful, swords and spears glimmering in the torchlights as their hands trembled, the elves seemed completely at ease. They stood about talking in their whispery singsong voices, gesturing, laughing softly. There was a slight hint of intensity, as if the elves were tightly strung bowstrings, ready to snap, but it was barely noticeable.
The dwarf looked at Legolas. Legolas began to answer, but suddenly, Tamor's voice came from his other side. It was clear. Strong. Questioning.
"They are not afraid, Master Elf. They aren't afraid at all. Are they mad? Is it sorcery?"
An elf of Haldir's regiment began to hum. So did the others, humming in perfect harmony. Then, they began to sing, a haunting melody that was barely audible beneath the storm. Their serene, solemn voices were heartbreaking. Legolas could hardly breathe. Their song called to the strange elvish core of his heart, the part of his heart he had left to call his own.
::Under Mountain dark and tall
The Rohan Men protect their Hall
The orcs will die, the Enemy fly
And ever so their foes shall fall::
::Our swords are sharp, our spears are long
Our arrows swift, the Gate is strong
Our hearts are bold in shadows cold
Horsemasters no more shall suffer wrong::
"You're wrong," Legolas said, glancing around at the elves. He could see it in them, even if Gimli and the boy could not. The way they sang, eyes closed, shutting out the darkness, turning their gaze inward for a dose of pleasant memories, remembering warm drowsy sunlight on their faces and the smell of leaves, like a gladiator calling for wine before a battle.
"They have lived for thousands of years," Legolas whispered softly, still staring out into the darkness. "They know that for all the ages of their lives, all could be in vain. They could each of them fall tonight. All it would take would be one blow, one arrow, to destroy centuries of life."
He looked back at Tamor and Gimli, his expression unreadable.
"They're terrified," he said, simply.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Silence. Total silence, besides the sound of the approaching hordes, their heavy, horrid feet making the ground thunder. Above them, the sky crashed and bellowed. Lightning lit the night, flickering on pale faces.
"I don't want to die here, not like this.." Legolas whispered silently in Elvish, and looked over at Tamor. The boy was also whispering to himself, mouthing the words. It took him a few moments to read what the boy was saying, murmuring to himself over and over, like a litany.
"I am Tamor, son of Tandir, and I will dare the goblin's arrow, the orc's blade, the warg's maw. I am Tamor, son of Tandir, and no matter what the suffering, I will not commit my heart to sleep until my lifeblood runs red from battle wounds and my head is cloven from my body. I am Tamor, son of Tandir, and I will not abandon my king or my duty, living or dead, 'til I have completed my course and victory is within my grasp. I am Tamor, son of Tandir. This is what is asked of me, this is what I yield."
Next to this boy, who thrummed with terror and was brave in the face of it, Legolas felt like a coward. He took a deep, cleansing breath and fell silent. What replaced his fear and doubt and horror was only something, some warlike creature hidden deep inside him, cold and detached and precise. He distanced himself from the carnage to come.
// Aragorn...I believe. I believe... // Legolas thought, closing his eyes again. Another deep breath. He found his center, pulling the night around him like a protective cloak.
"Good luck, Gimli."
"And to you, Legolas. May we all live to see the dawn."
Legolas smiled gravely. "Right."
Around them, other soldiers of the Rohan spoke among themselves.
"There aren't enough shields to go around..."
"Or swords. Of course, we got to fight in the bloody dark...But look how slow they're moving, though."
"Hell, fast enough for me. Look at 'em all."
A rough answer. "Just give the dumb dark bastards a taste of your fist."
"I'd rather not encourage them to get any taste of me, if it's all the same to you."
Coarse, nervous laughter.
"Be quiet," Legolas snapped firmly, and amazingly, they did.
Next to him, Legolas saw Tamor raise his bow with the rest of the archers.
Nearby, further down the wall, Haldir was speaking to his archers in swift, confident Elvish, as smooth and flowing as a cold stream. Listening in, Legolas realized that Haldir was trying to encourage them. There was something in that suave, sweeping stream of conviction that was unnerving.
// Haldir doesn't believe, either, // Legolas thought, a cold chill sweeping him. // No matter what pretty words he told Aragorn. He doesn't believe we can hold the Deep, and he doesn't believe in the Men, and he doesn't believe even his own can help them. But he'll be damned before he'll let them know it. So he's trying to make us believe, instead of himself. //
Legolas felt a swell of affection for Haldir, for his concern and for his attempt to keep the morale up. He also hated him for not believing.
// You came out of love for Aragorn, not out of faith in Rohan, // Legolas thought, and shook his head a little, turning back towards the battlefield.
"All right, you curs," Haldir snarled in Elvish, smiling grimly. His warriors smiled back at him. "Let's see how you can shoot."
The elvish captain turned to Tamor, who stood armed at the end of his regiment. He switched to Common Tongue, looking down at the boy. "You, little horsemaster. Our job is to keep them off the walls. Make sure they do not reach it. If they do, ignore them unless they come at you. The swordsmen backing us will thump them down. Go for the head first. If you can't get that, go for the weak points of the armor, armpits, upper thigh, neck."
"What about the eyes?" Tamor asked.
"Yes, eyes are good, too. If you can hit an orc's eye in the dark," Haldir added doubtfully. "Not many mortals can."
"I can hit a sparrow's eye after moonset. I could shoot before I could ride, and I could ride almost before I could walk," Tamor replied coolly, bristling with indignation.
Haldir laughed softly, grinning at the boy's attitude. "Ah, well, at least you have spirit. If you can bring the fell things down, do so however you wish. If it's so simple for you, just don't make it look too easy, eh? You'll make the rest of us look bad."
Legolas wanted to say something to match their bluffing bravado, something to chase away his fear, but he could find nothing to say. He only stood, and watched, and waited, and listened.
The Dark Army approached the rampart and stopped. They howled and slammed their lances and clubs and spears and swords into the ground, making it shake. Thunder growled across the sky. Far on the horizon, Legolas could see the flank of the hordes. Barely. His heart lurched in his chest.
"Hold," Haldir said, his voice filled with a deliberately bored, smooth, oh-isn't-this-fun tone. "Hold."
Rain began to fall, clattering on armor and helmets, capturing firelight in wet hair.
"Great. Just lovely," Haldir muttered. Not loudly, but loudly enough for Legolas's sharp ears to catch him.
Legolas pulled his bow up, aiming carefully into the sea of foes. Next to him, Gimli raised his axe in preparation.
"Look lively, dearhearts," Haldir added in the darkness near him, a smirk in the elvish captain's tough, polished voice. Someone laughed, but in the darkness, there was no way to tell who it had been. A nameless elvish face beneath a helm.
"Godspeed, my warriors. Go with my love and the love of The Lady," Haldir purred confidently, raising his own bow.
"Send them back to the dark!" someone shouted. It was a mortal voice.
"I am the son of Tandir!!" the dark golden-haired boy shouted near Legolas, making the elf look over at him. A thunderbolt lit up the sky. The Rohan boy glared out into the darkness with fierce defiance in his voice and rain on his face. Lightning glimmered on his helmet and flashed in his eyes for a moment. When he spoke again, he had to shriek over the thunder. "Come for me, orcs! I am Tamor!!"
Someone else took up the call. "I am Einskaldir, son of Elias! Come if you dare!"
"I am Isgrimnur, guard of the Mark!"
"I am Miriamele, Shield-Maiden of Rohan! Go back to your tunnels, foul things!"
The hordes just howled and stamped louder, making the plains echo. Their rumbling cries answered the thunder.
An arrow flew over the wall and found its mark. Someone had decided that words were not enough of a warning.
The declarations stopped, and there was a collective silence. No one knew who had shot it. Haldir scowled, opening his mouth to scream for them to hold the line, what the blasted hells did they think they were doing? But it was too late.
The battle had begun.
~~~~~~~~~~~~ Review, yeah?