Sarah is, for this fic at least, the official responder! *cues applause track* :D
EVERYONE: New map!!! Don't run: it's to help you understand who's fighting whom in the upcoming battle. :D
Saige: *hugs saige* We're so glad you made it!! And it's okay, really: better late than never! Thrilled to our sneakers that you're liking Nethtalt so much! :D
Lina: *Sarah is nearly bowled over by the fleeing Nethtalt and Findel* Oh dear. Is absolutely nothing safe here? :P *turns around to see Lina and Legolas bickering* Oh bother. Can no one be calm around here? *Lina's triumphant laughter sends Sarah and Eomer dashing to the left in an effort to avoid Mavranor's demise* AAAAAH!! *pants as Eomer hauls his charge away* This— this fic-writing stuff is about to— about to kill me… Um. So glad you're enjoying it, Lina! Um. I wonder if it wouldn't be safer for Findel, Mavranor and myself if you enjoyed it a little less…? :P :D
Eomer: Tell the Rohirrim that one hundred pounds of chocolate is our final offer. We'd offer them more, except that the bodyguard firm that hired out Chloe's Grimi say they can get us at least twenty-some equally skilled dwarves to protect our threads for only seventy pound of chocolate. Sorry to bring up competition like this, but, well, we have to keep our bargaining edge! We can't have you thinking we're so desperate that we'll pay anything you ask. *dashes off suddenly to intercept Lina, who is chasing Findel around a tree and whooping like and Indian* We're not desperate at all! Really! :D
saber crazy: LOL! Absolutely! Especially on the 'cursed' bit. ;D Legolas will move, don't worry! Really, there's no pleasing you readers as a whole. One minute you say "More Legolas!" and the next minute "More Thorongil!" Alas, the hazards of fic-posting! ;D Will this post make you feel better?
Maranwe: S'okay, there are plenty of people to make friends with in Middle Earth; Gandalf needn't be one of them. ;D Glad the suspense hasn't *quite* done away with you, and yes, you're a good guesser! Thank you! :)
Mouse: *counts Easter eggs to make sure Mouse can't snitch one* 43 exactly! Now then, don't worry: Thorongil's in the next chapter! And glad you liked our tension — nothing like a little friction between allies to make things interesting, eh Legolas? :P
None: Worry not: blatant torture for Legolas is officially at an end! Minor torture… well, it's an unpredictable thing. So thrilled you like Findel!!! :D
Anarril: Yep, you're a great guesser! We would have told you before, but we didn't want to give the chapter away. ;D Kudos too on Thalion: I think we translated it 'dauntless man', but it's practically the same thing. As for Thorongil: Did you miss the part where he told Legolas what his name meant? It was kind of buried in the scene where they caught up on their news. :)
Gwyn: *glances warily at the semi-macabre reader until she realizes that, um, she'd be wanting the same thing* Heh heh. Well, I can't make any promises, since I don't actually remember whether we didn't anything dastardly to him or not — I'll have to ask Hannah — but I'm pretty sure he at least gets hit with something at some point or other… ;P Good guess on Findel! :D
reginabean: Glad you approved of the fireworks and, um… *glances at reginabean puddle* … and liked the chocolate! ;D
w: It's okay, we really don't mind if you don't like Findel! Just so long as she's disliked on account of what she is (rather rash) and not what she is not (a Mary Sue — at least we hope not). Thanks for the praise of her actions, nonetheless! Glad that came off well. :D I think Legolas knew (brain-wise) that Galmod would be ungrateful, but still hoped (heart-wise) that he'd be able to change the man's mind. Maybe illogical, maybe not — such a scene could be interpreted either way, I suppose. And you weren't whining. ;) Forgot to mention last time: Thank you for the grand compliment on our vocabulary (demurred in particular)! Product of too much reading, and a favorite game of Hannah's: "Hey Sarah, I was looking up suchandso in the dictionary and guess what else I found!" ;D As usual: boundlessly pleased that you like Duurben so much!! :D Ditto too on Stavhold: especially because you seem to have remembered everything about him! He was rather obscure in the last story, but he's a much more interesting character if his history is taken into account. :) Glad the comparison between our lead kings came through — we weren't sure if it would because we didn't want to spend too much time on it. Last of all: A grateful grin on the notice paid to our fireworks!! Oh yes, and I had a good laugh on the notion of taking bets! As it happens, we only have two deaths for the whole fic, therefore, with the earlier perishing of Meldir, there is only one slot left to be filled, but if you wish to submit your guesses anyway, that's fine by us! ;D
Another tiny-bit-longer-than-usual post! :)
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Thorongil
By Sarah and Hannah (Siri)
(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries
available at the top of chapter 1)
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MAP: See Siri's bio
Chapter 23
'It would have been the end…'
A large trumpet, carved from the lower tusk of a mûmak, bellowed across the lines of waiting Haradrim. Their golden armor glittered dangerously, and their turbans were wound in red cloth, like blood. Forward they marched as a single body, the mûmakil lumbering in their midst like large islands, and they strove to stay out of the paths of the creatures. At the head of the army rode Harnwe on his fresh mûmak, his own armor twice the magnificence of any below him in command. Rubies shone from his saber hilt, and the point of his spear was pure gold. From his neck there hung chains of precious metals and gems, and about his head a turban of fiery silk hid the finely wrought helmet that protected him. Above his head, draped from a tall framework, there floated his standard in the cold winter winds.
As he had when he first entered the Brown Lands many days before, he crested the final rise and paused to gaze beyond it. But behold! The lands he espied were neither barren nor empty. As far as his eye could pierce lay lands rich with the promise of beauty in spring, grazing in summer. And in front of him lay the sole obstacle of his victory — if obstacle it could indeed be named. The small army of Thengel, King of Rohan.
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Inside Medui, all was chaos. At the first word of approaching battle, the villagers had left their homes behind the fort and urgently requested shelter. These refugees carried with them more baggage than could be realistically stowed, and for a time jangling nerves and short tempers tangled about each other in the court yard until the matter nearly came to blows. Eorwine was not present, but was rather outside the fort already, overseeing the ordering of his men. Gandalf, however, had been smoking in the guard house, and he came stalking out, his pipe still in hand, and a strange cloud of colored smoke clinging unnaturally about him as if by magic. The old man muttered something and waved a hand and the strange smoke dispersed in time for him to catch hold of the chain mail and collar, respectively, of the two dissidents.
"Now then, let's have none of that!" the wizard rumbled. "Absolutely not. Now, of course, if there is scarcely room for you, then there is no room for your pigs. A child could easily grasp that much, and have done so, for that matter." Here he cast a pointed glance at a lad and his mother standing nearby with naught but a satchel of food and three blankets between them. The man's eyes darted about and he seemed finally to grasp the unseemliness of the conflict. Without another word he nodded and turned aside to drive his livestock back to their pens outside the fort.
The people began to move again, like crowded ants, bustling to find a sheltered corner. At the center of the maelstrom, Gandalf returned placidly to his pipe, unconscious of the incongruity.
"Sir?" The boy who had caught the wizard's eye was standing anxiously before him.
"Yes, my lad," Gandalf smiled genially, his gruff manner softening in a way that put the boy at ease. "What is your name?"
"Aldor, son of Thalion, sir, and this is my mother, sir, Rokhiell. She needs, sir — that is, I need to —" the boy seemed increasingly nervous at the numbers of people pressing round him.
"The guard house should suit you." Gandalf suggested calmly, resting a hand on the lad's shoulder and pointing with his pipe's mouthpiece. "Most are taking shelter in the stables, but as your mother is the wife of a member of the éored, I expect it will do."
"Thank you!" Aldor gasped, wondering if the wizard had read his mind. "I'll—I'll take my mother there at once."
"Do so. And be careful, Aldor son of Thalion."
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Outside of Medui all was deceptively still. In the distance could be clearly heard the tramp of enemy feet and the bellows of the mûmakil. The ears of the horses, more attuned than those of their riders, pricked forward anxiously as the animals began to sense the size of the approaching enemy. Along the line, a few mounts shifted uneasily in their places, and a soft whiny marked the tension that was felt by all.
"Hush," Eorwine murmured softly to his horse, and sighed. Likely this would be his last day upon the plains he knew so well. He readjusted his grip on his spear.
And over the rise there appeared a line, broken only by the mountainous humps of the war beasts.
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Legolas drew his horse to a halt and Duurben reigned Maerhiin and Breon in behind him. The ruins of Tulganif were just before them and only the slight cover of the foliage and rocks hid them.
The camp was constructed of tents, some strung up against pieces of the fort which rose from the ground like jagged teeth. They gave the entire atmosphere a foreboding feel. Legolas silently counted what sentries his keen eyes could spy. They seemed to be keeping mainly to the outer edges and though it would be hard to enter the camp, he had hopes that they would be able to do so unnoticed.
"We will approach on foot," Legolas instructed after a moment, dismounting his horse and fastening Norleg's lead to a small tree. Duurben did the same. It did not much matter how tightly they were tied; both man and elf knew the beasts would remain where they were placed.
Occasionally crawling along on their hands and knees, two moved silently towards the camp. When they were very near its borders, Legolas indicated that Duurben should wait before moving any further forward. Treading silently, he reached a chunk of wall that was positioned a safe distance from the first row of tents, and nodded when the sentries pace did not come near enough to notice him. Duurben was quick to follow and the elf waited until the man was again beside him.
"How will we know where he is?" Duurben whispered, glancing quickly around the broken piece of stone wall.
Legolas turned to him briefly before looking out at the camp again. "First I am going to scout around and see if I can find a prison tent."
"Prison tent?" Duurben frowned.
"Yes, these Southrons fashion their tents to be identifiable from without." He gestured to their right then to their left, "There are the guard tents and that one must be the tent of a high official."
"Are you sure you know exactly what their prison tents look like?" Duurben looked doubtful as he studied the different tents camped around the ruins, obviously not knowing himself.
To this Legolas gave a humorless smile. "I know," he responded simply.
The man of Gondor accepted that response and again they slipped along, keeping to the outskirts of the camp. The Southrons had built their camp inward from where the fort's far north wall had been, but it overlapped the south wall, like two boxes of equal shape offset from each other. This worked to the two companions' advantage, for it meant that there were always pieces of broken wall to hide their stealthy progress; still, they had to be swift to avoid the watchful eyes of the sentries. To their good fortune the two were not easily noticed — Legolas' elven tread was completely silent, and Duurben, though a man, had long possessing the ability to move with care. Their faces were tense with concentration, nonetheless, and the absolute pertinence of avoiding their own capture was enough to keep their pace hushed and their presence unknown.
After skirting a good ways around the perimeter, Legolas drew back behind a particularly high wall, it's stones literally crumbled from whatever had hit them; Duurben followed.
"Alas, though I have sighted our destination, it lies at the very heart of the camp. The only cover afforded us is that it is built against the stable, and the wall shields one side of the tent." Legolas gestured towards the place and Duurben saw it for himself. It was indeed at the heart of the camp and reaching it without apprehension would be a virtually impossible feat. He let out a breath before returning his attention to the elf.
"We will have to make for it at a run," he shrugged. "There is too much risk if we go slowly for the sake of remaining unnoticed."
"We dare not attempt such a charge," Legolas shook his head slightly. "If we can get past the first line of tents we should not be seen by the sentries as they only patrol the boarders, but there is a remainder of the southwest tower directly in our path to the tent; we would be sighted for sure."
Duurben saw the tower he spoke of, it looked on the verge of falling in on itself and was much closer to the ground then it had likely been before, yet a lone sentry stood behind its ramparts, pacing slowly and keeping a careful watch on the ground below, and Duurben knew the elf was right. "There is but one sentry, Legolas," Duurben murmured, turning back to the elf, "and what other chance have we?"
Legolas looked again at their path to the tent: what if the tent was not the one they sought? Their element of surprise would then be forfeit, possibly taking with it Thorongil's only chance of escape. The broken tower stood slightly aside their path and Legolas had no doubt that the sentry would make their presence known the moment they were seen.
"Wait," Duurben said suddenly, interrupting Legolas' thoughts. "If I were to run to the tower so as to draw his attention to myself, then could you not fell him by arrow close to where you stand?" Legolas sighted along the distance before nodding slowly.
"Yes, I believe I could, Duurben, but you must be wary not to be seen by the border sentries."
Duurben nodded quickly, "Only let us hasten."
At a nod from Legolas, Duurben ran quickly down and across the camp, ducking his head and moving on silent feet. For a time his presence was unnoticed, but, as predicted, the sentry on the low tower quickly caught sight of the man and quickly drew close to the crumbling ramparts, hurling down his spear. Leaping from concealment, Legolas aimed an arrow directly for the man and released it, watching as it brought the man crashing forward, his body smashing through the crumbling stone and down towards the ground.
Legolas saw the danger a second before it came down upon Duurben's head. The sentry and most of the broken rock had fallen nearly twenty paces away from Duurben, but a loosened rock fell straight down to strike the man on the right side of his scull, slamming him abruptly to the ground.
Legolas flinched before cautiously crossing the distance. Their attack had not been a silent as he would have had it, but fortunately the other sentries were too far from the tower to perceive the struggle that had taken place.
Quickly the elf checked the man's pulse, thankful it was still beating strongly, but recognizing that the soldier was most certainly unconscious. Legolas shook his head as he hastily lifted the man and dragged him to the side, searching for a place to hide him. All the while he was watchful for some sign that the camp had been aroused.
He found a tent close by that was not in use and looked and smelled as though it hadn't been in a while. He placed the soldier there, hoping worriedly that nothing would happen in his absence, and then quickly hid the fallen sentry and debris as best he could. None had seen him, but he knew this was only temporary.
When he had only a few more paces to the tent, he pressed his back against the tower, waiting for the right moment. He had just begun to rush for the tent, when he was forced to pull up short, as if he had struck a wall. A man was just leaving the tent. He did not see Legolas and seemed much occupied in his own mind, but Legolas knew it was Brerg — and on the man's his sleeves Legolas could clearly see the stains of blood. The elf gripped the side of the stone tower as he felt a wave of rage wash through him and the moment the man disappeared behind another broken wall, Legolas ran straight for the tent.
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The horsemen drove down the field like a straight line of arrows, the hooves of their animals beating the ground with a noise like thunder. With a titanic crash, the enemy came to meet them, and the line was broken, some men meeting their foes early and halting to fight, others driving on until the enemy was all about them.
Thengel rode out as well, but was not permitted by Bronweg to go forward with the first sortie. The marshal knew full well that if his king were to fall, the men would be unable to draw a victory from the conflict.
A Rohirrim soldier rode swiftly through a gradually clearing path between his own army and the enemy, firing arrows into the ranks, and upwards at one of the great beasts. Several shots went wide, or did not effect the mûmak, but one at least found a mark in its red eye, and the monster swerved aside, trumpeting and crushing. A moment later, a Southron on foot hurled a spear that pierced the heart of the soldier's horse and the man was thrown down and killed by the Southron's scimitar.
Minutes later, another Rohirrim attempted the same feat and managed to put out the mûmak's other eye, only to be crushed when the monster fell. Along the line, horses whinnied in terror and dropped with their riders like flies, but not without inflicting damage.
Harnwe glared in pure hatred as one of his mûmakil collapsed, and he drove his own beast in amongst the ranks of the Rohirrim, but the horses were too swift to be trampled so easily, and the mûmak began to stumble as the horsemen drove spears at its knees as they passed underneath it. In danger of being thrown, Harnwe pulled back and ordered a fresh wave of his men to attack, driving them over the many bodies of their own dead to slay the golden-haired barbarians.
Thengel watched the enemy come, and then halt as his own men met them. Come again, disregarding loss and injury, and be halted again. And now they were coming a third time, and Thengel was forced to acknowledge as he watched his men remount, or fight on foot if their horses had been slain, that they could not long hold the field against such an onslaught.
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No one was coming to my aid
And I still was so afraid…
Tell you the truth, for me
It would have been the end
Lucky for me
I had a friend
— Artist Unknown
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Thorongil felt pain no more. It ran too deeply through him, it was too much a part of him to be noted any longer. He just concentrated on breathing and staying conscious. He knew the moment he collapsed, it would be the signal to his tormenters to summon the queen, else he might not live long enough to be her blood prize.
Thorongil's eyes were swollen, though not as bad as they could have been. He knew that his chest had faired far worse, he was not aware of any broken ribs, but it throbbed as though a mûmak had trampled him. Another blow in his chest caused the man to jolt and let out a hoarse moan. He had no doubts that they meant to kill him soon, he simply could not hold up against this abuse much longer.
"You still refuse to speak," Brerg's voice throbbed painfully in Thorongil's head which had been badly beaten during the interrogation. He heard the man give a scornful grunt before the next words beat upon him. "This one won't last the night. One more blow to the head would finish him, I think. I will inform the Lady Mavranor." Thorongil felt his breath threaten to fail him; he heard his heartbeat slowing, warning him that it would soon stop altogether; but if the Lady Mavranor had her way, it would stop beating only at the whim of her knife.
Thorongil shut his eyes; he knew that he would not live long and he did not fear death, but he couldn't help feeling that he should not give up hope. Something continued urging him to hold on a little longer.
A little longer.
But no. Even now he heard the echoing sound of the tent opening once more to admit the Lady, and he knew that he would not live.
A sharp cry, like something wounded, reached his ears. He tried to look up and see what had made the sound, but the world churned around him as he moved his head. He heard another exclamation, this time in a different tongue, and felt someone crouch before him. Desperately he tried again to focus on what he was seeing and then, concentrating until his head pounded, he managed to make out the face that swam before him.
His heart leapt and even in his pain he felt his strength returning. "Legolas," he whispered — though only half of it came out.
The elf's eyes were deep with concern but he smiled slightly in relief to find his friend still alive and quickly severed the offensive bonds holding his friend captive. Thorongil felt suddenly weak without support and fell forward, but Legolas caught him easily and lifted him to his feet. Thorongil staggered, unable to hold himself upright unaided.
"Easy my friend," Legolas whispered softly. "I must get you out of here."
The captain was struck with a brief sense of reversed dè ja vú , but it past quickly and he made an effort to move in the direction his friend was leading him. To his surprise, Legolas lifted the back edge of the tent instead of leaving by way of the opening.
"Before Brerg returns," Legolas explained softly. The elf slid out first and was immediately confronted by the wall the tent was held against. Moving swiftly, Legolas groped under the tent and grabbed Thorongil under the arms, pulling the man after him. A choked cry was strangled off as the rough ground tore at his shoulder wounds, but Legolas hurriedly pulled him back and held the man against his chest, having only just enough space for them between the tent and the wall.
They were not a moment too soon. Legolas clearly heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and despite his friend's badly injured state, the man tensed beneath his grip. He heard the murmuring exclamation of surprise from Brerg and then a high, blood-chilling, enraged scream issued from the tent as the Lady Mavranor found her quarry had been wrenched from her grasp.
"Find him!" she ordered, her voice rising even higher. "Find him and bring him back!"
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Horses. Men. Spears. Scimitars. All tangled together in a horrible mess of blood and neighing horses. A mûmak trumpeted loudly over all, stumbling slightly as a dip in the ground opened beneath one of its feet. It leaned to the side as it tried to right itself and men tumbled from the platform on its back, falling to their deaths into the mass of roiling bodies below. The monster rumbled on, unchecked and without a master.
Eorwine guided his men in short attacks, never meeting the enemy full on, but only coming within spear-throwing range and then falling away again before a counterattack could be made by the Southrons. This prevented some loss, but also allowed General Fuinor a greater control of the battle field and the Southron took full advantage of it.
Holding back a large portion of his men, he waited until Eorwine had brought his horses in for another quick attack, and then released them. Eorwine caught the wave of men full on and was driven back nearly to Medui's walls. The Rohirrim floundered, pressed as they were between stone and scimitar, and fought madly to regain maneuvering space, but Fuinor knew better than to give it them. With their horses immobilized, they could no longer sting his army as they had been doing.
It was sooner than Eorwine would have liked, but he did not waste time lingering over his decision. "Fall back!" he cried. "Fall back to the fort! Every man to the gate!"
Withdrawing from their skirmishes all along the fort's face, they swung their beasts to the side, catching their unhorsed companions up on behind them and galloping hard around the fort to where the gate now stood open. The Southrons gave out a cry and pursued them, following hard at their heals on foot and upon mûmakil.
As the horsemen thundered through the gate, the enemy made a violent endeavored to follow them in — slashing with scimitar and spear; eager to take the fort without the aid of the coming catapults.
"Bolt the gate!" Eorwine cried, "Bolt the gate!" But the enemy had swarmed too thickly about it, and prevented it from being closed. Several men slipped in and were only just slain by the rapidly dismounting Rohirrim.
Inside the guard house, Aldor grabbed his mother's elbow and pushed her into a corner, his eyes wide with terror at the sounds just beyond the wall. Catching up his bow with trembling fingers, he remembered his boast that he would someday shoot as well as Legolas. He wished the elf were present. Better still, his father. Rokhiell pulled a dagger from their food bundle and crouched low as her son took a shaky position in front of her, shielding her with his lanky body if nothing else.
"Aldor," she whispered, attempting to make him sit, "don't—"
With a sudden slam, the door sprang open and a figure lurched in from the mêlée. A heartbeat of observation showed Aldor the gold armor, dark beard, and strangely wrapped headdress. His body tightened in fear and without thinking, he released the arrow he had strung.
Dazed and horror-struck as he was, his mind did not track the flight of the projectile, and so for a moment he was confused as an arrow seemed to suddenly appear between the Southron's eyes. Rokhiell gasped and endeavored to pull him back, but a strange feeling seemed to wash over him. Darting forward before another enemy could enter, he thrust the Southron's body out into the courtyard, and slammed the door, barring it firmly. Walking back, he picked up his bow with hands that no longer trembled and drew another arrow; and this he did not lay aside until the noise without ceased.
Eorwine dismounted, drawing his sword and joining the fray as the Southrons continued to thrust their way inside. Time and time again his weapon flashed, bringing down still more of the enemy, but all their bodies seemed to do was wedge the gate still harder open, and the Southrons were not dissuaded.
"Back, Eorwine, I must have room!" Gandalf came shoving through the Rohirrim, his staff in one hand and a brilliant blade in his other. It rang as he fought his way through, and though he had discarded his hat, the wizard seemed suddenly taller.
The Rohirrim fell back, leaving the rapidly widening gap to Gandalf, and without taking time to sheath his bloody sword, the wizard brought his staff up and muttered something in a language that Eorwine did not understand. There was a sharp crack, as of lightening, and a sheet of blue flame seemed to slam forward from where the wizard stood. The flame reached the encroaching Southrons like a wave, bodily lifting them and hurling them back. It was as if a great wind accompanied the blast — for even the bodies of the slain were hurled clear of the gate — and the wizard's long gray beard was blown back over his shoulder.
With a second word, the gate was slammed to with a crash, and the wizard laid his gnarled hands on the heavy beams. For a moment longer he muttered, as if to himself, and then struck the gate once with his staff. Then he seemed to sag just slightly and, wiping his sword clean, he sheathed it and walked away, murmuring to Eorwine in passing, "There is a shutting spell on the gate — they shall not enter that way — but look to your east wall and quickly. The robbed man is often a desperate one."
TBC…