Author's Note: This chapter skips around in Helm's Deep, as relaying the entire battle would only take forever. However, you will get the gist of it, I'm sure. Also, please excuse my terrible Elvish grammar, as the interjection of it is only for aesthetic purposes, and I did the best I could with it. Translations are at the end of the chapter.
As for Angst - It's only the third chapter. Battle hasn't even started yet. Give me some time. *evil laughter*
As for Haldir - This guy was majorly fun to write, since he was so underdeveloped in the movie and the book, and I could characterize him the way I wanted. Alas, 'tis the writer's way: Always kill your darlings. Anyway, don't worry. Just trust me. I wouldn't screw it up. It'll be glorious. ^_- He won't go out like a wuss, I promise. (I would have had Legolas speak with him before he died, like someone requested, but this chapter was already written before I got the review).
The Long Night
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Legolas fired and fired; his bowstring sang a frantic song in harmony with the bows of Lorien beside him,
and the bow of the Rohan boy near him. The orcs were coming up the walls.
"Tell me what goes on, Legolas! I cannot see!" Gimli cried angrily. "What do you see?! Orcs?"
"Orcs," Legolas agreed breathlessly, loosing another arrow. His eyes were narrowed in concentration.
"What else?"
Legolas hesitated for a moment, cocking his head slightly. "More orcs," he answered, someone managing to answer without the slightest tone of sarcasm.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Legolas fought.
His arrows sliced through leather and flesh like it was butter. Claws reached for him, blades aiming to disembowel him, but he ducked out of range. He tripped over the body of one, still shooting, not wasting an arrow. He made a desperate lunge to remain upright and rolled to his feet. A sword sliced the air where he had been, but Legolas was already gone.
He slammed forward into them, arrows flying. He had to get them, had to. He shot them down as they tried to mount the ramparts. Fangs flashed at him, great bulging arms and legs and claws. There were still more, there was no end to them. He must keep moving, must never stop, or they'll catch him.
Dozens of orcs, goblins, and men rushed towards him, jamming the narrow rampart with their bodies, their writhing, flailing legs and heavy swinging arms and swords of cold iron. Glowing eyes bore down on him, like monsters from a child's fairytale.
Legolas stopped where he stood, took careful aim, and killed them all. There was no place for them to run or duck. There was no cover for them. They were all packed together, headlong frenzy and doomed targets. Only when he had cleared the path did he stop to watch. Listen. Wait.
Suddenly, he heard Gimli's voice near him. Amazingly, the dwarf was laughing.
"Hah, Master Elf, how goes the hunt?! I've got two!"
In the utter lunacy of the moment, Legolas laughed brightly. "Two? Dear Master Dwarf, my count must be twenty at least. But don't worry, they're plenty, and the night is long. You may still catch up."
The dwarf sputtered in indignation and was gone. Legolas laughed again.
The sight was terrible, awful. Orcs still, more orcs still in columns and rows and marching and they saw him, turned towards him, so many looking at him, hating him, like they knew him personally and would kill him for some offense he alone had committed against them. The dead and dying were all around.
He was out of arrows. He shouldered his bow and pulled his knives. He fought and he killed them. He fought, seeing his dead kin all around him, and suddenly knowing for certain what the enemy could do to him. That no amount of immortality mattered if your lifeblood was spilling onto the rocks.
He fought.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Aragorn also fought. He met the foe with Anduril.
Around him, the other men (and not a few women) charged bravely forward. They pounded at the orcs with their swords, spears, clubs. They smashed at them with their shields. They punched and stabbed and ripped, missing often, sometimes completely off-balance. But on the limited area of the ramparts, the orcs couldn't reach them all at once, and their efforts were crudely effective.
Aragorn moved like a deadly wind over the parapet, killing and lending aid in a well-timed blow to end separate struggles, knocking orc ladders from the rampart walls. The swordsmen were novice, but they fought for their wives and their children, and that lent desperate power to any weapon. They had a tendency to become grappled up with one foe, but before another could come along and kill the trapped Rohan warrior from behind, Aragorn would step forward and make the kill.
At first, the Rohan men would verbally thank him for his aid, but as the height of battle slowly grew, the acknoledgements were reduced to grunts, and finally ominous silence, except for the sounds of screams and battle cries and harsh breathing and the crack of the thunder.
Despite their lack of skill, Aragorn was surprised to find that most of the Rohan men could hold their own. Orc bodies were stacking up on the wall, making further attacks more difficult. He shoved their corpses off the wall, knocking others down as they tried to scale it.
The orcs became more numerous, more relentless in their rush. The time for retreat would come, Aragorn knew, but for now, they were holding their own rather well. Time was what they had to buy. The dawn would not be far off, if only they could hold the beasts at bay. And with the dawn would come Mithrandir.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Legolas needed arrows. He groped for spent arrows, sticking out of the corpses littering the stone. He collected them from the fallen warriors around him. A dead Lorien elf gave him five more arrows. One from Imladris, pale and limp as a child's ragdoll, lent him eleven more.
Sickened at the carnage and at gaining only three arrows, Legolas pushed away the next corpse angrily, refusing to recognize Heskil, an elf of Haldir's Guard he had known-passingly-all his life. He took the arrows anyway, knowing that his friend would need them no longer.
Legolas was alive. He still needed them.
Aragorn called his attention to an orc at the foot of the wall. It carried something, some kind of torch, that flared like a feverish star. The other orcs made way for it, parting it a path. Legolas didn't know what the creature was trying to do, but it didn't look good at any rate.
"That one! Legolas!"
Without thinking, acting only on instinct, Legolas aimed and shot. He shot it twice. Good, killing blows. It should have been dead. It kept running.
"Legolas! Kill it! Kill it!"
He shot it again; the thing was dying. But by then, it was too late.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The blast when the rampart fell was awesome. It threw Aragorn off his feet. He crashed into the stone on his side. He could see nothing for smoke and darkness. Screams pierced the night, warcries, whimpering, unbelieving shouts filled his ears. He couldn't see Haldir and yelled for him, and he couldn't see Legolas or Gimli, either. He shouted for them all, but there were too many people and orcs and goblins yelling already, and his voice was lost in the din. He stood up when another explosion shook the Deep, flattening him again. And there were more screams.
"HALDIR!" He could barely hear his own scream, much less any reply.
Up on the parapet, the part that had not yet fallen, the elvish captain stuck his head over the wall. "Estel!"
"Haldir! Draw back your archers! They've breached the wall! Pull them back!"
Haldir nodded down at him, made a vicious, dismissive salute and began to call for his elves. But he had turned his back on the battle, and that moment of distraction cost him dearly.
Aragorn saw the elvish captain hit, saw the fatal stroke. Saw lightning flash on the blade as an Uruk lunged forward and struck, driving it into Haldir's side, and jerk it back, quick as a snakebite. Without noticing that he had been struck, Haldir fought the thing.
"HALDIR!"
When Haldir had killed the Uruk, he stood where he was for a moment, still and statuesque. He raised his eyes at Aragorn's voice, eyes wide and clear. They focused on him, eyes dark in a pale face, like the eyes of a northern wolf. No human ever had eyes that color.
Haldir dropped his bow; it fell from his slackening shoulder and hit the stones with a clatter that Aragorn could hear, even over the sounds of battle. Haldir's hands found the wound, fingers fluttering over it, exploring the wrenched, ruined gold. He looked down at his bloodied hands for a second, then raised his eyes back up to Aragorn, pleading. Pleading. Then he sank slowly, gracefully, to the ground, becoming just another fallen shadow.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Haldir did not feel the wound until he had killed his attacker. Just the fact that this creature dared to stab him pissed him off. He grappled with the huge creature, looking into dim, lunatic eyes. He was no longer afraid, if he ever had been at all. He was just furious. All his fear was used up. He looked into the Uruk's eyes, and for a moment, they understood each other, as one warrior to another.
The Uruk looked back at him, growling, breath like rotted meat, mouth filled with rending teeth. Its face was a thing of nightmares, a deformed horror, ragged pointed ears that might have once been the fair tipped ears of an Elf-kin. Its eyes glowed with stupid cunning. Haldir could read the expression in those eyes perfectly well. They were full of hatred and mad jealousy.
// I could have been one of You, // those eyes said. // And you could have been one of Us. We are brothers, You and I. You were born to Light, and I to Darkness. I hate You. I'll hurt You, bloody that pretty face, make the Fair Folk fair no more, and kill You if I can. Hate You! Every last one of You! So I'll eat You, and then You'll be in me. I'll bring you into Darkness, too. And there will be no more Light to shine on our wretchedness. Without Your Light, the world will fall into Shadow. The beasts of the forests You've loved will die chased and screaming. Your stupid trees will fall to ruin. //
Haldir tried to be angry again, tried to call forth that grand striking rage, but he could feel nothing now but revulsion and pity. And pressing terror, that the things this creature wanted could ever come to pass. He knew that this creature wanted him dead, meant to kill him, and suddenly, that was just fine. But he had no intention of going down quietly. Not against this fell creature, who had only the dimmest, decayed sense of dignity. And if he was going down, he was sure as hell going to take this last Uruk with him. If not for fury, than for mercy.
The Uruk saw the fear in Haldir's eyes, and knew that the elf understood. The creature's mouth twisted into a terrifying grin.
"No, stinking bastard!" Haldir snarled defiantly, teeth gritted and bared, pushing forward with as much might as he possessed. He drove it back and killed it with a blow too quick for human eyes to see. He rammed his sword into it fiercely, even though it was already dead. It was dead, yes, but he meant to have his way with it all the same. Never in his long ages of his life had he ever been so severely hurt, and it was over and done with before he could realize it.
It was only when the thing was dead and his sword buried in its chest that he felt the deep, numbing pain in his side. From across the world, it seemed like, he could hear the faint rasp of his own breathing, a thin sound as air went down his throat and slid back out again in a series of feverish gasps. Strangely, he found himself wondering where the little horsemaster was, the little golden-haired one at the end of his line, and whether the boy was still living.
// Stupid thing to be thinking. Stabbed me. Pathetic pitiful bloody bastard stabbed me. Hurt me. Ai, Elbereth, Elbereth.... that's one more accursed creature that can do no more harm, at least. //
Haldir looked up and saw that Aragorn was staring up at him in horror. He tried to stay focused on Aragorn's face, tried to stay on his feet, but couldn't. The strength leaked out of his legs, and he suddenly found himself kneeling on the stones. All the screams became distant, the torchlights too bright.
He closed his eyes, breathing in gasps. // Hold it together, for Valar's sake. If you're going, you'll go, sure enough. But you're not going to go before you call them in. So hold it together... //
The elvish captain drew in a deep breath of cold, wet night air, ignoring the coppery, metallic taste in the back of his throat, and cried out against the darkness.
"ENTULESSE! FIFIIRA!"
The Elves talked about it for ages to come; centuries after the end of Sauron, they were still talking about it. Singing about it. One could hardly meet an elf in Valinor who did not claim to have been there on the night of the battle of Helm's Deep, and to have heard that last deep, courageous cry.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Aragorn flew as fast as his feet could carry him. And there Haldir was, suddenly, crumpled on the stone before him, fading torchlight gleaming off golden armor. He kneeled in dirty water, discarded, ignored by the enemy, which dashed doggedly past him, knowing he posed no more threat. Aragorn rushed forward, grabbed, tried to lift him as the warcries echoed around them-
"No!" Haldir gasped, shoving him away. "Let go, Estel! Go on, damn you!"
Aragorn saw it then, the terrible gash in Haldir's side, saw the dark slick of blood spilling there. He saw Haldir's fingers clamped there, trying to hold the wound closed.
"Don't worry, Haldir. I'll carry you," he whispered. He tried to pick the elvish captain up again, but Haldir would not let him. The elf struggled and cried out in a mixture of pain and frustrated disgust. His face was twisted into a desperate, snarling grimace.
Haldir shoved at him again. "Damned fool....just go on!" There was blood in the elf's voice. It was ragged, choked, the sound of something terribly, hopelessly torn.
"I've got you, mellon-nin," Aragorn said, ignoring the elvish captain's tortured words, choked with pain and anger. For Aragorn, there was no more battle at that moment. There was nothing but this, nothing but this duty, this thing to do, for his friend to live. Live.
// Help me! Legolas! Gimli! Someone help me! // Aragorn thought, desperately. He tried to shout for help, but no words would come. And no one came. No one helped. Everyone was fighting for their lives, no one could come. The rain was pounding down now-a hard, drenching rain that plastered his hair to his skull-and he held Haldir in his arms and no one came.
"Aiya! Help me! Haldir ye harna!" Aragorn screamed finally. He put his hand over Haldir's, holding the wound closed as best he could. Warm blood spilled over his fingers, the wet red sunlight of a dying day. In that moment, Aragorn would have given anything to be an Elf, and one of the Halfelven royal court. To be a blooded kin of Elrond, to be Gifted, to be able to heal...to be able to cure with his touch. But he was not. He was mortal. He was weak, helpless against this foe, this death, and hated himself for it.
Aragorn lifted Haldir up against him, pressed against his chest protectively. The elvish captain's eyes rested on his, his grip fading, head lolling weakly. But Haldir smirked up at him. His eyes were calm and aware. It was that same disdainful go-to-hell smile, but now it was only heartbreakingly tragic.
The elvish knight sighed wearily. There was no peace in his expression, no hope, although Aragorn would have loved to have been able to say so. All he saw there was an infinite exhaustion. He had never seen an elf look so old. "Elessar, did I ever tell you...I loved Galadriel?"
Aragorn was sure he had never heard the captain of the Lothlorien Guard ever voice anything of the sort. He knew that Haldir could have been disgraced for saying such a thing, and it was something he himself would never repeat to another soul, not even Arwen.
"...No," the Ranger whispered. It was true; Aragorn knew that if Haldir hadn't been dying, he never would have uttered the words. But Aragorn had known. Anyone who saw how Haldir revered the Lady Lorien had to have known, even Celeborn. And yet, he had never said a word. It was an unspoken thing.
"Ai...I was so sure...I must have," Haldir whispered, and fell silent.
Sinking down against the rock, bloodied palm of his hand falling away from his wound to rest on cool stone, Haldir had one last wistful thought. // Ai, my Lady....Dwimordene....It takes too long to die. //
He closed his eyes and imagined Galadriel's eyes, deep dark blue wells of stars, time, and memory. Seeing this last, he was swept into darkness, across a span of starlight, and into the Halls of Mandos.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Feeling Haldir go still in his arms, Aragorn gently, carefully laid the elvish captain on the cold, bloody stone. Stone. Haldir would have hated it, Aragorn thought ruefully, and this last was painful still. Tears cut tracks down his dirty cheeks.
Aragorn stood, clumsily moving to his feet, staggered, but did not fall. He lifted Anduril, a serene expression on his face.
He refused to fall. The stakes were too high.
From far away, it seemed, he could hear Legolas and Gimli.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Twenty-one, my pointy-eared friend! How fare you!?"
"Good, you've almost caught me then, bushy-bearded comrade," Legolas lied easily, returning the dwarf's barb about his ears with an agreeable verbal jab at the dwarf's beard. "A few dozen, only. You will surpass me yet. Though I fear there will prove to be enough for us both."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
From the East, past the terror that was Mordor, a half-light began to fill the sky.
Not dawn. Not yet. But almost.
Almost.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Don't forget to review!
Translation:
Haldir ye harna! - Haldir is wounded!
Entulesse! Fifiira! - Return! Fade away! (Retreat)
Mellon-nin - my friend
As for Angst - It's only the third chapter. Battle hasn't even started yet. Give me some time. *evil laughter*
As for Haldir - This guy was majorly fun to write, since he was so underdeveloped in the movie and the book, and I could characterize him the way I wanted. Alas, 'tis the writer's way: Always kill your darlings. Anyway, don't worry. Just trust me. I wouldn't screw it up. It'll be glorious. ^_- He won't go out like a wuss, I promise. (I would have had Legolas speak with him before he died, like someone requested, but this chapter was already written before I got the review).
The Long Night
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Legolas fired and fired; his bowstring sang a frantic song in harmony with the bows of Lorien beside him,
and the bow of the Rohan boy near him. The orcs were coming up the walls.
"Tell me what goes on, Legolas! I cannot see!" Gimli cried angrily. "What do you see?! Orcs?"
"Orcs," Legolas agreed breathlessly, loosing another arrow. His eyes were narrowed in concentration.
"What else?"
Legolas hesitated for a moment, cocking his head slightly. "More orcs," he answered, someone managing to answer without the slightest tone of sarcasm.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Legolas fought.
His arrows sliced through leather and flesh like it was butter. Claws reached for him, blades aiming to disembowel him, but he ducked out of range. He tripped over the body of one, still shooting, not wasting an arrow. He made a desperate lunge to remain upright and rolled to his feet. A sword sliced the air where he had been, but Legolas was already gone.
He slammed forward into them, arrows flying. He had to get them, had to. He shot them down as they tried to mount the ramparts. Fangs flashed at him, great bulging arms and legs and claws. There were still more, there was no end to them. He must keep moving, must never stop, or they'll catch him.
Dozens of orcs, goblins, and men rushed towards him, jamming the narrow rampart with their bodies, their writhing, flailing legs and heavy swinging arms and swords of cold iron. Glowing eyes bore down on him, like monsters from a child's fairytale.
Legolas stopped where he stood, took careful aim, and killed them all. There was no place for them to run or duck. There was no cover for them. They were all packed together, headlong frenzy and doomed targets. Only when he had cleared the path did he stop to watch. Listen. Wait.
Suddenly, he heard Gimli's voice near him. Amazingly, the dwarf was laughing.
"Hah, Master Elf, how goes the hunt?! I've got two!"
In the utter lunacy of the moment, Legolas laughed brightly. "Two? Dear Master Dwarf, my count must be twenty at least. But don't worry, they're plenty, and the night is long. You may still catch up."
The dwarf sputtered in indignation and was gone. Legolas laughed again.
The sight was terrible, awful. Orcs still, more orcs still in columns and rows and marching and they saw him, turned towards him, so many looking at him, hating him, like they knew him personally and would kill him for some offense he alone had committed against them. The dead and dying were all around.
He was out of arrows. He shouldered his bow and pulled his knives. He fought and he killed them. He fought, seeing his dead kin all around him, and suddenly knowing for certain what the enemy could do to him. That no amount of immortality mattered if your lifeblood was spilling onto the rocks.
He fought.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Aragorn also fought. He met the foe with Anduril.
Around him, the other men (and not a few women) charged bravely forward. They pounded at the orcs with their swords, spears, clubs. They smashed at them with their shields. They punched and stabbed and ripped, missing often, sometimes completely off-balance. But on the limited area of the ramparts, the orcs couldn't reach them all at once, and their efforts were crudely effective.
Aragorn moved like a deadly wind over the parapet, killing and lending aid in a well-timed blow to end separate struggles, knocking orc ladders from the rampart walls. The swordsmen were novice, but they fought for their wives and their children, and that lent desperate power to any weapon. They had a tendency to become grappled up with one foe, but before another could come along and kill the trapped Rohan warrior from behind, Aragorn would step forward and make the kill.
At first, the Rohan men would verbally thank him for his aid, but as the height of battle slowly grew, the acknoledgements were reduced to grunts, and finally ominous silence, except for the sounds of screams and battle cries and harsh breathing and the crack of the thunder.
Despite their lack of skill, Aragorn was surprised to find that most of the Rohan men could hold their own. Orc bodies were stacking up on the wall, making further attacks more difficult. He shoved their corpses off the wall, knocking others down as they tried to scale it.
The orcs became more numerous, more relentless in their rush. The time for retreat would come, Aragorn knew, but for now, they were holding their own rather well. Time was what they had to buy. The dawn would not be far off, if only they could hold the beasts at bay. And with the dawn would come Mithrandir.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Legolas needed arrows. He groped for spent arrows, sticking out of the corpses littering the stone. He collected them from the fallen warriors around him. A dead Lorien elf gave him five more arrows. One from Imladris, pale and limp as a child's ragdoll, lent him eleven more.
Sickened at the carnage and at gaining only three arrows, Legolas pushed away the next corpse angrily, refusing to recognize Heskil, an elf of Haldir's Guard he had known-passingly-all his life. He took the arrows anyway, knowing that his friend would need them no longer.
Legolas was alive. He still needed them.
Aragorn called his attention to an orc at the foot of the wall. It carried something, some kind of torch, that flared like a feverish star. The other orcs made way for it, parting it a path. Legolas didn't know what the creature was trying to do, but it didn't look good at any rate.
"That one! Legolas!"
Without thinking, acting only on instinct, Legolas aimed and shot. He shot it twice. Good, killing blows. It should have been dead. It kept running.
"Legolas! Kill it! Kill it!"
He shot it again; the thing was dying. But by then, it was too late.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The blast when the rampart fell was awesome. It threw Aragorn off his feet. He crashed into the stone on his side. He could see nothing for smoke and darkness. Screams pierced the night, warcries, whimpering, unbelieving shouts filled his ears. He couldn't see Haldir and yelled for him, and he couldn't see Legolas or Gimli, either. He shouted for them all, but there were too many people and orcs and goblins yelling already, and his voice was lost in the din. He stood up when another explosion shook the Deep, flattening him again. And there were more screams.
"HALDIR!" He could barely hear his own scream, much less any reply.
Up on the parapet, the part that had not yet fallen, the elvish captain stuck his head over the wall. "Estel!"
"Haldir! Draw back your archers! They've breached the wall! Pull them back!"
Haldir nodded down at him, made a vicious, dismissive salute and began to call for his elves. But he had turned his back on the battle, and that moment of distraction cost him dearly.
Aragorn saw the elvish captain hit, saw the fatal stroke. Saw lightning flash on the blade as an Uruk lunged forward and struck, driving it into Haldir's side, and jerk it back, quick as a snakebite. Without noticing that he had been struck, Haldir fought the thing.
"HALDIR!"
When Haldir had killed the Uruk, he stood where he was for a moment, still and statuesque. He raised his eyes at Aragorn's voice, eyes wide and clear. They focused on him, eyes dark in a pale face, like the eyes of a northern wolf. No human ever had eyes that color.
Haldir dropped his bow; it fell from his slackening shoulder and hit the stones with a clatter that Aragorn could hear, even over the sounds of battle. Haldir's hands found the wound, fingers fluttering over it, exploring the wrenched, ruined gold. He looked down at his bloodied hands for a second, then raised his eyes back up to Aragorn, pleading. Pleading. Then he sank slowly, gracefully, to the ground, becoming just another fallen shadow.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Haldir did not feel the wound until he had killed his attacker. Just the fact that this creature dared to stab him pissed him off. He grappled with the huge creature, looking into dim, lunatic eyes. He was no longer afraid, if he ever had been at all. He was just furious. All his fear was used up. He looked into the Uruk's eyes, and for a moment, they understood each other, as one warrior to another.
The Uruk looked back at him, growling, breath like rotted meat, mouth filled with rending teeth. Its face was a thing of nightmares, a deformed horror, ragged pointed ears that might have once been the fair tipped ears of an Elf-kin. Its eyes glowed with stupid cunning. Haldir could read the expression in those eyes perfectly well. They were full of hatred and mad jealousy.
// I could have been one of You, // those eyes said. // And you could have been one of Us. We are brothers, You and I. You were born to Light, and I to Darkness. I hate You. I'll hurt You, bloody that pretty face, make the Fair Folk fair no more, and kill You if I can. Hate You! Every last one of You! So I'll eat You, and then You'll be in me. I'll bring you into Darkness, too. And there will be no more Light to shine on our wretchedness. Without Your Light, the world will fall into Shadow. The beasts of the forests You've loved will die chased and screaming. Your stupid trees will fall to ruin. //
Haldir tried to be angry again, tried to call forth that grand striking rage, but he could feel nothing now but revulsion and pity. And pressing terror, that the things this creature wanted could ever come to pass. He knew that this creature wanted him dead, meant to kill him, and suddenly, that was just fine. But he had no intention of going down quietly. Not against this fell creature, who had only the dimmest, decayed sense of dignity. And if he was going down, he was sure as hell going to take this last Uruk with him. If not for fury, than for mercy.
The Uruk saw the fear in Haldir's eyes, and knew that the elf understood. The creature's mouth twisted into a terrifying grin.
"No, stinking bastard!" Haldir snarled defiantly, teeth gritted and bared, pushing forward with as much might as he possessed. He drove it back and killed it with a blow too quick for human eyes to see. He rammed his sword into it fiercely, even though it was already dead. It was dead, yes, but he meant to have his way with it all the same. Never in his long ages of his life had he ever been so severely hurt, and it was over and done with before he could realize it.
It was only when the thing was dead and his sword buried in its chest that he felt the deep, numbing pain in his side. From across the world, it seemed like, he could hear the faint rasp of his own breathing, a thin sound as air went down his throat and slid back out again in a series of feverish gasps. Strangely, he found himself wondering where the little horsemaster was, the little golden-haired one at the end of his line, and whether the boy was still living.
// Stupid thing to be thinking. Stabbed me. Pathetic pitiful bloody bastard stabbed me. Hurt me. Ai, Elbereth, Elbereth.... that's one more accursed creature that can do no more harm, at least. //
Haldir looked up and saw that Aragorn was staring up at him in horror. He tried to stay focused on Aragorn's face, tried to stay on his feet, but couldn't. The strength leaked out of his legs, and he suddenly found himself kneeling on the stones. All the screams became distant, the torchlights too bright.
He closed his eyes, breathing in gasps. // Hold it together, for Valar's sake. If you're going, you'll go, sure enough. But you're not going to go before you call them in. So hold it together... //
The elvish captain drew in a deep breath of cold, wet night air, ignoring the coppery, metallic taste in the back of his throat, and cried out against the darkness.
"ENTULESSE! FIFIIRA!"
The Elves talked about it for ages to come; centuries after the end of Sauron, they were still talking about it. Singing about it. One could hardly meet an elf in Valinor who did not claim to have been there on the night of the battle of Helm's Deep, and to have heard that last deep, courageous cry.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Aragorn flew as fast as his feet could carry him. And there Haldir was, suddenly, crumpled on the stone before him, fading torchlight gleaming off golden armor. He kneeled in dirty water, discarded, ignored by the enemy, which dashed doggedly past him, knowing he posed no more threat. Aragorn rushed forward, grabbed, tried to lift him as the warcries echoed around them-
"No!" Haldir gasped, shoving him away. "Let go, Estel! Go on, damn you!"
Aragorn saw it then, the terrible gash in Haldir's side, saw the dark slick of blood spilling there. He saw Haldir's fingers clamped there, trying to hold the wound closed.
"Don't worry, Haldir. I'll carry you," he whispered. He tried to pick the elvish captain up again, but Haldir would not let him. The elf struggled and cried out in a mixture of pain and frustrated disgust. His face was twisted into a desperate, snarling grimace.
Haldir shoved at him again. "Damned fool....just go on!" There was blood in the elf's voice. It was ragged, choked, the sound of something terribly, hopelessly torn.
"I've got you, mellon-nin," Aragorn said, ignoring the elvish captain's tortured words, choked with pain and anger. For Aragorn, there was no more battle at that moment. There was nothing but this, nothing but this duty, this thing to do, for his friend to live. Live.
// Help me! Legolas! Gimli! Someone help me! // Aragorn thought, desperately. He tried to shout for help, but no words would come. And no one came. No one helped. Everyone was fighting for their lives, no one could come. The rain was pounding down now-a hard, drenching rain that plastered his hair to his skull-and he held Haldir in his arms and no one came.
"Aiya! Help me! Haldir ye harna!" Aragorn screamed finally. He put his hand over Haldir's, holding the wound closed as best he could. Warm blood spilled over his fingers, the wet red sunlight of a dying day. In that moment, Aragorn would have given anything to be an Elf, and one of the Halfelven royal court. To be a blooded kin of Elrond, to be Gifted, to be able to heal...to be able to cure with his touch. But he was not. He was mortal. He was weak, helpless against this foe, this death, and hated himself for it.
Aragorn lifted Haldir up against him, pressed against his chest protectively. The elvish captain's eyes rested on his, his grip fading, head lolling weakly. But Haldir smirked up at him. His eyes were calm and aware. It was that same disdainful go-to-hell smile, but now it was only heartbreakingly tragic.
The elvish knight sighed wearily. There was no peace in his expression, no hope, although Aragorn would have loved to have been able to say so. All he saw there was an infinite exhaustion. He had never seen an elf look so old. "Elessar, did I ever tell you...I loved Galadriel?"
Aragorn was sure he had never heard the captain of the Lothlorien Guard ever voice anything of the sort. He knew that Haldir could have been disgraced for saying such a thing, and it was something he himself would never repeat to another soul, not even Arwen.
"...No," the Ranger whispered. It was true; Aragorn knew that if Haldir hadn't been dying, he never would have uttered the words. But Aragorn had known. Anyone who saw how Haldir revered the Lady Lorien had to have known, even Celeborn. And yet, he had never said a word. It was an unspoken thing.
"Ai...I was so sure...I must have," Haldir whispered, and fell silent.
Sinking down against the rock, bloodied palm of his hand falling away from his wound to rest on cool stone, Haldir had one last wistful thought. // Ai, my Lady....Dwimordene....It takes too long to die. //
He closed his eyes and imagined Galadriel's eyes, deep dark blue wells of stars, time, and memory. Seeing this last, he was swept into darkness, across a span of starlight, and into the Halls of Mandos.
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Feeling Haldir go still in his arms, Aragorn gently, carefully laid the elvish captain on the cold, bloody stone. Stone. Haldir would have hated it, Aragorn thought ruefully, and this last was painful still. Tears cut tracks down his dirty cheeks.
Aragorn stood, clumsily moving to his feet, staggered, but did not fall. He lifted Anduril, a serene expression on his face.
He refused to fall. The stakes were too high.
From far away, it seemed, he could hear Legolas and Gimli.
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"Twenty-one, my pointy-eared friend! How fare you!?"
"Good, you've almost caught me then, bushy-bearded comrade," Legolas lied easily, returning the dwarf's barb about his ears with an agreeable verbal jab at the dwarf's beard. "A few dozen, only. You will surpass me yet. Though I fear there will prove to be enough for us both."
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From the East, past the terror that was Mordor, a half-light began to fill the sky.
Not dawn. Not yet. But almost.
Almost.
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Translation:
Haldir ye harna! - Haldir is wounded!
Entulesse! Fifiira! - Return! Fade away! (Retreat)
Mellon-nin - my friend