V - There Is Still Evil in the World
Their journey along the southern border of the Westfold, in the shadow of the Ered Nimrais, was uneventful. They passed Edoras without stopping and crossed into the Eastfold on the second day after setting out from Helm's Deep.
As the evening of that day drew near, Legolas pointed to the distance. "I can see a small settlement at the foot of the mountains, about half a league away", he said. "I count ten, no, twelve huts with straw- thatched roofs."
Suddenly he straightened up and peered intently ahead. "There is dark smoke rising, and I hear cries and sounds of battle!" He turned to Gimli who was riding behind him, only to see that the dwarf had already loosened his old battle-axe. "You ride ahead, Legolas, and I will follow as fast as I can!" he growled. The elf nodded and bent over his horse's neck. "Noro lim, Híthlain!" he whispered, and the grey horse tossed its head and leaped forward with a loud whinny.
Legolas had soon left Gimli far behind, covering the distance at great speed. As he approached the settlement he could see the fire rising from one of the huts. Several men on foot were fighting a large number of dark figures, most of who were on horseback. The villagers were hopelessly outnumbered. Huddled in a corner near the largest building was a small group of women and children. A young man stood in front of them, brandishing his sword in a desperate attempt to defend them.
Without slowing down, Legolas took the bow from his back and fitted an arrow to the string. Although he was still several hundred feet away, his shot felled the attacker who was closest to the little group. Another arrow followed swiftly, and another marauder fell to the ground with a pierced throat.
For a moment, there was confusion among both attackers and defenders as they turned to see where the arrows had come from. Then the marauders split up, and four of them came riding towards Legolas. The elf sent two more arrows at his attackers in rapid succession, then ducked underneath their swords as he passed them, and veered around. His next arrow found its mark. The last rider cried out in anger and fear as the angry elf came riding towards him at a gallop. He never saw the blade that cut his throat.
Legolas turned back towards the settlement. The fighting between the huts was continuing, and despite the unexpected help, the settler's plight was dire. With deadly precision, the elf shot one arrow after the other, heedless of the arrows that whirred past him in reply. He had spent most of his quiver when Gimli finally caught up with him. Despite the obvious discomfort his speedy ride had caused him, the dwarf seemed eager for battle, for he growled, "Help me down, Legolas! I need firm ground where I can wield my axe!" Legolas reached out his hand and helped the dwarf swing down from his horse's back. With a mighty shout of "Khazâd ai-mênu!" Gimli ran towards the fighting men, swinging his axe and cutting down those that were too slow to notice his fury.
Faced by these two formidable fighters, the marauders began to waver. Many of them lay slain, and the defenders doubled their efforts with renewed hope. Slowly, the attackers were driven back. Those who had not yet fallen victim to Legolas' bow or Gimli's axe turned and fled.
Seeing that victory seemed to be theirs, Legolas was about to dismount when suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his right shoulder as the impact of an arrow sent him reeling backwards. Híthlain reared, and Legolas nearly lost his hold. Reaching for his aching shoulder, he looked up to see one last marauder aiming another arrow at him.
A cold anger came over the elf. With a sharp yank, he pulled the arrow from the wound. He doubled over with a low groan as searing pain shot through his arm and shoulder, but then straightened up again and fitted the bloody arrow to his own bow. As his assailant fired the next shot, the string of Legolas' bow whirred, and his arrow split that of the marauder down the middle. In a move as quick as lightning, the elf pulled another arrow from his quiver and fitted it to the string. His assailant groped around in his quiver, but all his arrows were spent. The man's eyes widened in fear at the elf's wrath, and he stumbled backwards, tripping and falling to the ground.
Legolas raised his bow to aim - but then slowly, hesitating, he lowered it again. For a long moment, everybody just stared, for none had ever seen elf or dwarf before; they had believed them to be mere fables. Attacker and villagers alike were frightened by this beautiful and terrible warrior. But the look of anger slowly vanished from the elf's face and was replaced by an expression of fatigue and sadness.
"Leave," Legolas said to the trembling man on the ground. "I am tired of seeing that evil has not been vanquished, despite the deaths of so many brave souls." He made a gesture, as if waving away an obnoxious fly. "Just go." The man stared at him in disbelief for a moment, then scrambled to his feet, jumped onto one of the horses, and fled.
The elf cast the arrow aside and slid down from Híthlain's back. Then he turned to the frightened villagers. Some of the men were trying to keep the fire which had almost completely destroyed one hut from spreading to the others. Gimli was standing next to the young man who had defended the women and children. The old dwarf leaned on his notched battle-axe, and his heavy breathing betrayed the effort this skirmish had cost him. He looked at his friend in concern.
"You are injured," Gimli puffed between two belaboured breaths. Legolas shook his head dismissively. "It can wait," he replied, and indeed it seemed the wound was hardly bleeding; but he clutched his right arm tightly to his side.
One of the settlers approached them hesitatingly. Like the others, men and women alike, he wore the traditional garb of the Rohirrim, and his weather-beaten face betrayed a life-long exposure to the sun and the winds on the plains of Rohan. His blond hair fell on his shoulders in two thick braids. His stature and demeanour seemed to make him out as the leader of the settlers.
"That was most unexpected help, my lords," he said in a husky voice. "It seems that fables and legends come alive! How can we thank you?"
Legolas looked at Gimli, and then over to where Híthlain and Ithildin were grazing. "By providing shelter and food for our horses, and a place to sleep for my friend." Gimli harrumphed, as if about to protest that he didn't need rest. But a look at the horses, and the stiffness of his old bones seemed to remind him of his age, and he acquiesced.
"I shall be honoured to accommodate you," the settler replied. Then he added, with a look at the elf's simple but exquisite garments and the dwarf's silver-studded leather coat, "I only fear that our dwellings are not what lords such as yourselves are accustomed to."
Elf and dwarf glanced at each other, and a quick smile flickered across Legolas' face as Gimli said, "Don't worry, good sir. We have travelled the width and length of your fair country before, and if the bare ground and open sky were good enough for us then, I am sure we will find comfort in your home now."
Although the settlers were glad that the attack had been successfully fought back, there was grievous work to be done, for there were not only marauders among the slain. Those who had died defending their homes were set apart to be given a decent burial the next day, while the bodies of the marauders were unceremoniously piled in a heap some way away from the village. Thélming, the village chief, lit the pyre. The flames roared upwards and shone on his grim face as he stared into the fire.
Then he returned to the settlement to see to the welfare of his guests. His wife Iomed had cooked a good meal, and Gimli the dwarf was tucking into it with a hearty appetite. Legolas, however, had not joined them. Thélming went outside again and after some searching found the elf with the horses. He was sitting in the grass next to Híthlain, softly chanting in Elvish.
Thélming cleared his throat respectfully. "I do not wish to disturb you, my lord," he said. "But I was told that you had not eaten. Are you well?" Legolas turned to the man, and his eyes reflected the starlight of the clear night sky. "I appreciate your concern, good friend. Do not think I scorn your lady's excellent fare. I do not need or desire to eat."
Thélming accepted this answer with a nod. "But what about your wound? My wife's cousin is an experienced healer and well learned in herb-lore. She would be glad to be of aid to you." Legolas looked at the man for a moment. Then he inclined his head slightly.
"Very well. I shall come with you to see if she knows athelas." The elf got to his feet in a smooth movement; but then he staggered, reaching out to support himself on Híthlain, as a blazing pain shot through his injured shoulder. The horse stopped grazing and lifted his head. Very gently he nudged Legolas' side, snorting quietly. The elf took a deep breath, and straightened up.
"Lead the way to your herb-lady, Thélming", he said.
When Gimli was woken the next morning by beams of the bright winter sun shining on his face, he found Legolas leaning in the doorway with his arms folded across his chest, looking down at him with a mischievous grin.
"Good morning, Master Dwarf," the elf said merrily. "I was beginning to be concerned about you. It sounded as if you were trying to defeat all foes of Rohan single-handedly by deafening them with your snores."
Gimli swung his short legs from his bedstead with a grunt and pushed himself up. "And a good morning to you, too, comely elf," he grumbled. Then he gave his friend a questioning look. "How are you? How is your wound?"
"It is healing," Legolas replied simply; but to Gimli he looked paler than usual. The dwarf saw the white of a linen bandage shining through the torn cloth of the elf's jerkin. "Thélming's relative knows her ways with herbs, although I would have wished for athelas rather than the foul- smelling paste she smeared on my shoulder. But come. We have a long way still to go, and knowing your appetite, breakfast is going to be as long as any hobbit could make it!" And laughing at the dwarf's blustering, Legolas turned and left.
However, it was not much later that the two companions mounted their horses again and took leave of their host. Thélming bowed his head. "Fare you well, my lords. I cannot thank you enough for what you have done for us."
Legolas looked down at Thélming's son, a boy of about eight years, who was staring up at them in awe. The elf bent down toward the boy. "What is your name?" he asked gently. "Be... Beregard, my lord," the child stammered. "Very well, Master Beregard," Legolas said. "I will teach you some Elvish, so listen well." The boy's eyes bulged, and he stood on his toes as if straining to hear better. Legolas smiled. "Trenerich i narn - tell the tale. Tell the tale of the friendship between men, and elves, and dwarves. Will you remember that?" Beregard nodded furiously. With an almost imperceptible wink, the elf straightened up again.
"Tolo, Ithildin." At these words from Legolas, Gimli's horse tossed its head, and the two companions rode out from the village.
For a long time, Thélming and his son stood still, watching until finally the riders disappeared from their view. Then Thélming put an arm around Beregard's shoulder and drew him close.
"Remember this moment, my son. Tell your children, and your children's children, about it. In my heart I feel that soon magical folk as these will not be seen any more in Rohan, maybe not in all of Middle- earth."
Their journey along the southern border of the Westfold, in the shadow of the Ered Nimrais, was uneventful. They passed Edoras without stopping and crossed into the Eastfold on the second day after setting out from Helm's Deep.
As the evening of that day drew near, Legolas pointed to the distance. "I can see a small settlement at the foot of the mountains, about half a league away", he said. "I count ten, no, twelve huts with straw- thatched roofs."
Suddenly he straightened up and peered intently ahead. "There is dark smoke rising, and I hear cries and sounds of battle!" He turned to Gimli who was riding behind him, only to see that the dwarf had already loosened his old battle-axe. "You ride ahead, Legolas, and I will follow as fast as I can!" he growled. The elf nodded and bent over his horse's neck. "Noro lim, Híthlain!" he whispered, and the grey horse tossed its head and leaped forward with a loud whinny.
Legolas had soon left Gimli far behind, covering the distance at great speed. As he approached the settlement he could see the fire rising from one of the huts. Several men on foot were fighting a large number of dark figures, most of who were on horseback. The villagers were hopelessly outnumbered. Huddled in a corner near the largest building was a small group of women and children. A young man stood in front of them, brandishing his sword in a desperate attempt to defend them.
Without slowing down, Legolas took the bow from his back and fitted an arrow to the string. Although he was still several hundred feet away, his shot felled the attacker who was closest to the little group. Another arrow followed swiftly, and another marauder fell to the ground with a pierced throat.
For a moment, there was confusion among both attackers and defenders as they turned to see where the arrows had come from. Then the marauders split up, and four of them came riding towards Legolas. The elf sent two more arrows at his attackers in rapid succession, then ducked underneath their swords as he passed them, and veered around. His next arrow found its mark. The last rider cried out in anger and fear as the angry elf came riding towards him at a gallop. He never saw the blade that cut his throat.
Legolas turned back towards the settlement. The fighting between the huts was continuing, and despite the unexpected help, the settler's plight was dire. With deadly precision, the elf shot one arrow after the other, heedless of the arrows that whirred past him in reply. He had spent most of his quiver when Gimli finally caught up with him. Despite the obvious discomfort his speedy ride had caused him, the dwarf seemed eager for battle, for he growled, "Help me down, Legolas! I need firm ground where I can wield my axe!" Legolas reached out his hand and helped the dwarf swing down from his horse's back. With a mighty shout of "Khazâd ai-mênu!" Gimli ran towards the fighting men, swinging his axe and cutting down those that were too slow to notice his fury.
Faced by these two formidable fighters, the marauders began to waver. Many of them lay slain, and the defenders doubled their efforts with renewed hope. Slowly, the attackers were driven back. Those who had not yet fallen victim to Legolas' bow or Gimli's axe turned and fled.
Seeing that victory seemed to be theirs, Legolas was about to dismount when suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his right shoulder as the impact of an arrow sent him reeling backwards. Híthlain reared, and Legolas nearly lost his hold. Reaching for his aching shoulder, he looked up to see one last marauder aiming another arrow at him.
A cold anger came over the elf. With a sharp yank, he pulled the arrow from the wound. He doubled over with a low groan as searing pain shot through his arm and shoulder, but then straightened up again and fitted the bloody arrow to his own bow. As his assailant fired the next shot, the string of Legolas' bow whirred, and his arrow split that of the marauder down the middle. In a move as quick as lightning, the elf pulled another arrow from his quiver and fitted it to the string. His assailant groped around in his quiver, but all his arrows were spent. The man's eyes widened in fear at the elf's wrath, and he stumbled backwards, tripping and falling to the ground.
Legolas raised his bow to aim - but then slowly, hesitating, he lowered it again. For a long moment, everybody just stared, for none had ever seen elf or dwarf before; they had believed them to be mere fables. Attacker and villagers alike were frightened by this beautiful and terrible warrior. But the look of anger slowly vanished from the elf's face and was replaced by an expression of fatigue and sadness.
"Leave," Legolas said to the trembling man on the ground. "I am tired of seeing that evil has not been vanquished, despite the deaths of so many brave souls." He made a gesture, as if waving away an obnoxious fly. "Just go." The man stared at him in disbelief for a moment, then scrambled to his feet, jumped onto one of the horses, and fled.
The elf cast the arrow aside and slid down from Híthlain's back. Then he turned to the frightened villagers. Some of the men were trying to keep the fire which had almost completely destroyed one hut from spreading to the others. Gimli was standing next to the young man who had defended the women and children. The old dwarf leaned on his notched battle-axe, and his heavy breathing betrayed the effort this skirmish had cost him. He looked at his friend in concern.
"You are injured," Gimli puffed between two belaboured breaths. Legolas shook his head dismissively. "It can wait," he replied, and indeed it seemed the wound was hardly bleeding; but he clutched his right arm tightly to his side.
One of the settlers approached them hesitatingly. Like the others, men and women alike, he wore the traditional garb of the Rohirrim, and his weather-beaten face betrayed a life-long exposure to the sun and the winds on the plains of Rohan. His blond hair fell on his shoulders in two thick braids. His stature and demeanour seemed to make him out as the leader of the settlers.
"That was most unexpected help, my lords," he said in a husky voice. "It seems that fables and legends come alive! How can we thank you?"
Legolas looked at Gimli, and then over to where Híthlain and Ithildin were grazing. "By providing shelter and food for our horses, and a place to sleep for my friend." Gimli harrumphed, as if about to protest that he didn't need rest. But a look at the horses, and the stiffness of his old bones seemed to remind him of his age, and he acquiesced.
"I shall be honoured to accommodate you," the settler replied. Then he added, with a look at the elf's simple but exquisite garments and the dwarf's silver-studded leather coat, "I only fear that our dwellings are not what lords such as yourselves are accustomed to."
Elf and dwarf glanced at each other, and a quick smile flickered across Legolas' face as Gimli said, "Don't worry, good sir. We have travelled the width and length of your fair country before, and if the bare ground and open sky were good enough for us then, I am sure we will find comfort in your home now."
Although the settlers were glad that the attack had been successfully fought back, there was grievous work to be done, for there were not only marauders among the slain. Those who had died defending their homes were set apart to be given a decent burial the next day, while the bodies of the marauders were unceremoniously piled in a heap some way away from the village. Thélming, the village chief, lit the pyre. The flames roared upwards and shone on his grim face as he stared into the fire.
Then he returned to the settlement to see to the welfare of his guests. His wife Iomed had cooked a good meal, and Gimli the dwarf was tucking into it with a hearty appetite. Legolas, however, had not joined them. Thélming went outside again and after some searching found the elf with the horses. He was sitting in the grass next to Híthlain, softly chanting in Elvish.
Thélming cleared his throat respectfully. "I do not wish to disturb you, my lord," he said. "But I was told that you had not eaten. Are you well?" Legolas turned to the man, and his eyes reflected the starlight of the clear night sky. "I appreciate your concern, good friend. Do not think I scorn your lady's excellent fare. I do not need or desire to eat."
Thélming accepted this answer with a nod. "But what about your wound? My wife's cousin is an experienced healer and well learned in herb-lore. She would be glad to be of aid to you." Legolas looked at the man for a moment. Then he inclined his head slightly.
"Very well. I shall come with you to see if she knows athelas." The elf got to his feet in a smooth movement; but then he staggered, reaching out to support himself on Híthlain, as a blazing pain shot through his injured shoulder. The horse stopped grazing and lifted his head. Very gently he nudged Legolas' side, snorting quietly. The elf took a deep breath, and straightened up.
"Lead the way to your herb-lady, Thélming", he said.
When Gimli was woken the next morning by beams of the bright winter sun shining on his face, he found Legolas leaning in the doorway with his arms folded across his chest, looking down at him with a mischievous grin.
"Good morning, Master Dwarf," the elf said merrily. "I was beginning to be concerned about you. It sounded as if you were trying to defeat all foes of Rohan single-handedly by deafening them with your snores."
Gimli swung his short legs from his bedstead with a grunt and pushed himself up. "And a good morning to you, too, comely elf," he grumbled. Then he gave his friend a questioning look. "How are you? How is your wound?"
"It is healing," Legolas replied simply; but to Gimli he looked paler than usual. The dwarf saw the white of a linen bandage shining through the torn cloth of the elf's jerkin. "Thélming's relative knows her ways with herbs, although I would have wished for athelas rather than the foul- smelling paste she smeared on my shoulder. But come. We have a long way still to go, and knowing your appetite, breakfast is going to be as long as any hobbit could make it!" And laughing at the dwarf's blustering, Legolas turned and left.
However, it was not much later that the two companions mounted their horses again and took leave of their host. Thélming bowed his head. "Fare you well, my lords. I cannot thank you enough for what you have done for us."
Legolas looked down at Thélming's son, a boy of about eight years, who was staring up at them in awe. The elf bent down toward the boy. "What is your name?" he asked gently. "Be... Beregard, my lord," the child stammered. "Very well, Master Beregard," Legolas said. "I will teach you some Elvish, so listen well." The boy's eyes bulged, and he stood on his toes as if straining to hear better. Legolas smiled. "Trenerich i narn - tell the tale. Tell the tale of the friendship between men, and elves, and dwarves. Will you remember that?" Beregard nodded furiously. With an almost imperceptible wink, the elf straightened up again.
"Tolo, Ithildin." At these words from Legolas, Gimli's horse tossed its head, and the two companions rode out from the village.
For a long time, Thélming and his son stood still, watching until finally the riders disappeared from their view. Then Thélming put an arm around Beregard's shoulder and drew him close.
"Remember this moment, my son. Tell your children, and your children's children, about it. In my heart I feel that soon magical folk as these will not be seen any more in Rohan, maybe not in all of Middle- earth."