Ooooohhhh. The exams are done 4 another year. Yippee. As you can tell, I'm a bit happy and the creatives juices flow forth once more. That's also a yay. Here's the next chapter for all you impatient fans (who I love soooooo much, by the way).
AND FYI, I've started a nu story. Will be posted as an original (cos that's what I think it is) and if you like my style of story telling, and you love a hero and a bit of angst and fighting and hopelessness and even a few laughs (whew!! That is some hitlist) then check it out. Its provisional title is the lead character's name "Teryn", but only because my brain is stalled on go story titles. If you don't like the title, read it and suggest a better one. Thanks.
The bow of Lothlorién sang and Orcs fell and Legolas and Gimli battled valiantly to stay sea of Orcs that came in washes from the hills now. Each time Legolas loosed an arrow, he pulled another from the quiver that was pulled high on his broad back. Gimli battled now both throwing axes, for he'd had to relinquish his walking-axe when he'd embedded it deeply into the skull of one of the fell creatures. The elf and dwarf stood back to back. It was a most unusual pairing, for Legolas was tall and fluid where Gimli was short and sturdy, the elf lightening fast where the dwarf was unnaturally strong. Nonetheless, they made quite the effective pairing in battle. As they circled in unison, their guard held ready none of the Orcs got more than two arms length near them, before they were mortally wounded.
Gimli breathed heavily, the solid reassuring weight of his axes allowing him to cast his gaze beyond the swarm of Orcs. There seemed to be no more, but he could not tell for certain. He called gruffly to the elf that shielded his back.
"This may be the last of the plague. What say you?"
Legolas too allowed himself a brief glance around. He was not out of breath, but the acrid stench of spilled Orc blood assailed his senses, and he forced himself to breath through his mouth. His keener sight could not discern any more Orcs than the dozen or so that circled them now, but that was no reason to drop their guard. In the back of his mind he prayed that Nephryn remained safe, and that they'd their stray hobbits.
Mere moments later, Legolas and Gimli had cut the foul creatures number to three. Legolas realised quickly that his quiver was empty and he reached back and pulled out both longknives. More caution was needed now for the elf knew that Orcs wielded their swords skilfully and Legolas was no match in strength for them.
At his back, Gimli bellowed in pain as he caught a glancing blow to the arm. It was forceful enough that it would have severed his arm completely but for the mystical mithril armour he wore. In a rage, Gimli swung both axes with frightening speed and cleaved the Orc's head from its body, before turning his menace on the last Orc.
Legolas circled his opponent slowly, deftly sidestepping each blow. He could continue like so for hours, and he would wear the Orc down and win. But the elf was very aware that they could not afford such a luxury. He was startled when he heard Gimli's loud roar, and it took all his will not to look for the dwarf. Such a distraction was all the Orc needed and he laid in with a series of swift blows. Legolas jumped back but not quickly enough, and the broadsword cut deep into the muscle of his right arm.
Legolas hissed in pain, but resisted cradling the injury. Already, the limb was beginning to numb. Soon it would be useless and he would have to fight with one knife. He would lose. Decision made, the elf gritted his teeth and swung forward with his good hand. The distraction was perfect for the Orc did not expect that the injured elf could use his wounded arm and brought up his broadsword to deflect the blow, and as Legolas brought the other knife around, the Orc was completely vulnerable. The stroke was wielded with such force that blade cut deep into the creature's throat snapping its neck, killing it instantly.
Legolas groaned loudly as spasms of pain rippled up his arm. He dropped both knives as he dropped to his knees and cradled the limb. It was utterly limp but the pain that radiated from it was dizzying. He looked around for Gimli and saw the dwarf approach him. It seemed that the skilful warrior had dealt swiftly with his lot.
"Are you injured?" He called as stooped to pull his walking-axe from the skull of an Orc.
"Alas I was not cautious enough. But I shall live I think."
Gimli moved around to inspect the wound, but both stopped short as a rich resounding drone cut the air. Legolas immediately recognised it as the sound of Boromir's horn. Gimli picked up the elf's longknives and carried one, handing the other for the elf to wield with his uninjured arm. They ran together back to the camp.
Even though he ran with customary ease, the forest swam before Legolas. Blood flowed down his arm, saturating his tunic, staunching every so often, but always reopening as broken terrain jarred his body. He could not stop the fearful thoughts that plagued him as her ran. He feared greatly for Nephryn, and in his heart he knew that Frodo was long gone. Now would they lose Boromir also?
As the reached the last crest before the camp, Gimli pulled up short and stared down at the scene below. The Steward of Gondor lay on the ground, his head cradled in Aragorn's lap. His body was riddled with arrows. Legolas looked on in shock, and was ushered by Gimli down the slopes to where Boromir lay slain.
Though the elf was appalled at the sight before, he could not help but to glance around for the elf-maid. She was nowhere to be seen.
"Boromir is dead." Aragorn murmured brokenly. "I found him like so, and he died defending the hobbits."
Legolas frowned as it dawned on him that the hobbits were also missing.
"Where are they?" he mumbled, beset by confusion. His head was light now and he felt as though this was all some frightful nightmare, wrought by too many waking nights and tense days.
"I do not know. I sent him to follow Merry and Pippen, but he died before he could tell me their fate. I do not know where Frodo and Sam are."
Aragorn sighed deeply closing his eyes as though to hold back anguished tears that stung his eyes.
"Frodo and Sam are gone."
Legolas was startled by the soft voice that sounded behind him. He breathed relief as he saw Nephryn creep lightly down toward them. As she drew near, he frowned and started toward her. He could see now that she'd met also with trouble. She was deathly pale and her face was smattered with angry reddened grazes and purple bruises. He could see a limp in her gait now and as she edged down the slope, she leaned heavily on a broadsword. A thin line of blood seeped from a long cut across her collarbone, as though something had tried and nearly succeeded in cutting her throat.
Her haunted eyes were fixed on the fallen Boromir, and unconsciously, she reached out for Legolas as she neared him. He drew her into a comforting embrace, relishing in the feel of her, and the relief that washed over him was a soothing balm to this fractious thoughts. As he held her close, he felt for any more injuries, but found nothing. She shook against him and buried her face in his shoulder.
Unbidden, he gasped she unwittingly pressed against his wounded arm. The pain made him sway and he was forced to lean heavily on the elf-maid's smaller frame. She looked up at him, confused and her breath caught as she noticed his arm for the first time.
"What did you mean when you said that Frodo and Sam were gone?" Aragorn asked as he looked up to them.
Nephryn looked at him torpidly, trying to focus on his question. Aragorn stood then, having laid his cloak over Boromir's bloodied body. He approached them in trepidation, afeared of what she might tell him.
"I was with Sam, when we were set upon by Orcs. I sent him to the boats, and I held them off, for they came upon our trail. When I reached the boats, I was too late, for Frodo had taken Sam and gone across the river, to the eastern shore."
Aragorn looked both dismayed and relieved at the words. He was very glad that the pair had escaped seeming unscathed, but it seemed that he'd failed in his duties to escort the hobbit to Mordor. They would go it alone now, unprotected as the entered the fetid realm of Sauron. He nodded and then went back to where the body of Boromir lay, and began to remove the arrows that had struck him.
Nephryn did not speak, but turned and led Legolas over to where their belongings still sat. He collapsed down against the trunk of a large oak, and sat as the effects of his wound took hold. Nephryn knelt down before him and began to remove his tunic. Shaking fingers fumbled with the clasp and she paled further as she drew the cloth away from the skin. The blood had dried, and she flinched visibly as the mottled blood tugged the wound open once more.
Legolas remained utterly still and silent; watching as her slim fingers gently pried away the cloth that clung to the skin. The elf-maid reached into a satchel and retrieved a flagon of water and some gauze. Methodically, she cleaned the wound and applied an Athelas salve. Then she dressed the wound in several layers of heavy muslin strips. She tied the strips in place and sat back to survey the work.
All the while, Legolas had watched her. Her eyes had misted over with tears, but stubbornly she refused to look at him. With his good arm, he reached out and caressed her face. She leaned in, yearning for his comforting touch. She closed her eyes, and a single tear slipped down her bruised cheek. Unable to speak or even hold herself upright, Nephryn leaned down and lay her head on her knees. Her silken hair was damp and it fell forward, pooling on the ground. Her shoulders shook as tears flowed silently. She cried for their loss: Boromir, Frodo, Sam, Merry, Pippen, the fellowship…
Legolas pressed his hand to her back and stroked her neck and hair. He could do no more, for weakness had permeated deep into his body. As quickly as they'd appeared, Nephryn's tears subsided. She sat up and pushed away the wetness, streaking dirt and blood across her face. She stood wordlessly and pulled a fresh tunic from Legolas's pack and handed it to him as she knelt next to him. Then she soaked some cloth in water and pressed it over her face, grimacing as the cloth pulled at the grazes on her face.
"Let me," Legolas murmured, breaking the silence and taking the cloth from her.
She tipped her face toward him and closed her eyes, as he dabbed gently at her features. She inhaled deeply and allowed her shoulders to relax. Wordlessly, Legolas pulled her down to the ground next to him and she lay back, resting her head in his lap, while he continued his ministrations. When her face was clean, he used the same Athelas balm and daubed it as lightly as possible over the bruised and broken skin.
When her facial wounds were cleaned, Legolas moved to the long cut that snaked along her collarbone. Nephryn had lulled in his arms, in a half-waking state, but as he touched the damp compress to the cut, her eyes flashed open and her hand flew to the wound, batting at his hands. He murmured softly to her, pushing her hands away. She relented but kept her eyes open, staring at his face, as his proud jaw caught the shadows and evening light flecked his blue eyes gold. Her heart hurt as she saw tears well in his eyes.
"What is to become of us now?" She whispered, more to herself than to anything else.
But Legolas looked down at her. She looked as he felt: that this was a manifestation of overwrought minds. But he knew, as did she, that their wounds and their sorrow hurt far too much for this to be a dream.
"That is not for me to decide. The choice is Aragorn's, though I wonder if he shall ever feel content in taking decisions anymore. This journey has been blow after blow to the morale of all."
As the elf-prince spoke, he regarded the Ranger. Aragorn stood at the brim of the glade, looking out over the river. He and Gimli had cleaned the body and prepared it for burial, but Aragorn had yet to decide how they would bury the brave warrior. Gimli sat, mere feet away. Though he worked vigorously to clean the heavy stains from the many blades, Legolas could see that he was as lost in thought as the rest of them. It was for all of them, a failure on their part, that a comrade was lost and they would bear heavy the burden for many months
to come.
Legolas returned his attention to the elf-maid lying before but she too had drifted away in thought, staring up at the clear evening skies, despite the harsh glare or the sun. To him, her face was an open book. He saw her sorrow, but something else as well; guilt perhaps? He did not understand it, and he would not until she chose to share it with him. As though the scrutiny of his stare was suddenly too much to withstand, Nephryn sat up and stood.
"Where are you going?" he called.
"I must retrieve some of my arrows. My quiver is empty and I cannot wield a broadsword."
Legolas moved to stand up, no mean feat when he was still light-headed, nor was it made easier when Nephryn placed a hand to stay him.
"What are you doing," she asked quietly, regarding him sceptically.
"I will accompany you."
Nephryn shook her head vehemently, "You need to rest, lest the wound would open again."
Legolas stood, drawing himself to his full height, forcing himself to ignore how the ground swayed beneath him.
"You cannot go out there alone. You are without a weapon and you are injured."
She shook her head again, gesturing to his arm as it hung limply at his side, "You have only your knives and even then you cannot use them, and you can barely stand straight. If you come, I shall surely have to carry you back here!"
In a matter of seconds, what had been a quiet conversation had erupted into a heated argument, not unlike that fateful day in Lothlorién a seeming eternity past. But he would not relent now, for to allow her to go out there alone might well result in tragedy. He could never bear the loss, and right now neither could the remainder of the broken fellowship, and so he levelled at her the one argument that would sway her mind.
"Would you let your stubbornness be the cause of further grief on the black day?" He murmured, looking her squarely in the eyes.
Legolas watched as her features blanched at the suggestion. She stepped back from him, and such hurt he'd never seen on the face of anyone in his life. It almost stilled his heart to think that it was his doing, but the alternative was to let her go out alone and never see her again, and compared to that, anything was bearable.
She turned and limped away toward Gimli, who had borne sorry witness to the conversation. She bent down to whisper something in the dwarf's ear, to which he nodded gruffly. He stood then, nodded once to Legolas, indicating that he at least understood the reasons for the elf's cruel words.
Then the dwarf, armed to the teeth with axes, and the limping elf-maid departed into the woods that had seen so many of their number lost that day. Nephryn did not look back once.
By the way I've now reached the milestone of twenty chapters. Also a yay. As you can see I'm quite overdosed on general positive feelings. Lack of exams have that effect you know.