A.N.: sorry about the delay…^_^ I had to discuss some things with my never-tiring beta, and we found out some things that would absolutely not work, therefore we had to go back a little…
I am mixing the movie and the books (this is fanfiction, and even I can't write that long…. We would get nowhere. So bear with me, please?)
Warning: it goes very, very complicated from now on. (Hint: pay attention!)
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Chapter Six: Fighting more than orcs at Helm's Deep
"In time we hate what we often fear." Antony and Cleopatra, Shakespeare.
@ Rohan, Helm's Deep. March 3rd of 3019.
**'Well, things could be better, but they could also be worse.'
They rode for two days. The company met wandering groups of orcs – who fled – and a scout from Erkebrand of the West Fold, that told them the Rohirrim army had been outnumbered and defeated. That was the part in which the king had lead them in breakneck speed to the fortress in helm's Deep –because a much larger army was approaching, and was not a friendly one-, and Gandalf said he had to go but would meet them again at the gates of Helm.
And when they entered the stronghold, they found an army in there- all the men who could retreat to helm, did. They had another thousand men or so – but most of them had seen too many winters, or too few.
Helm's deep had caves that could shelter hundreds of people, and let them resist for a very, very long time. But they had this one little problem.
Provisions.
No idea of how long the battle would take, and barely any food for one hundred men, much less two thousand people.
"Well, I'm not Jesus Christ, and God knows I'm not a saint, but I think I can handle this little problem." Arien said, looking at the room around her. One man was guarding the entrance, as the renegades had gone straight there as soon as they got in the fortification. Damon was standing beside her, shooting daggers with his eyes. They had resumed talking in antarian.
"Stop making fun of it, Arien." He said, and his voice was a cold hiss. "Pray tell what you thought you were doing?"
Whoa. Someone's angry. And why wouldn't he?
"Okay, Damie. What's the matter with you?"
"You nearly blown the cover, that's the matter with you!"
"No, I didn't!"
"You told them all about Antar! And you practically told them all about us!"
"I did exactly what I wanted to do."
"Excuse me?"
Arien thought quickly. It was extremely dangerous to try to outsmart a slytherin, even more when the aforesaid slytherin was also several millennia old and very, very smart. That was the Hogwarts' motto: Draco dormiens nunquam tilintantus – never tickle a sleeping dragon. But she was – tickling a sleeping dragon. And if she didn't find a perfectly fitting story, she'd probably be in a lot of trouble. Unless she charmed him, but then sooner or later the truth would go out and then she'd be in even more trouble…
She took a deep, calming breath.
"You see, the easiest, most uncomplicated way of making them buy our story was not to invent a lie –it would have too many wholes on it, we had no time to built one, and it would have failures either way. It was to tell the truth – more precisely, to build a story using bits of the truth as a foundation. Now we are able to make friends with the dwarf, who is the weaker link of the chain, and through him we'll get the elf, who's the most experienced and suspicious of the lot. The human will fall for it somewhere in the near future –all we have to do to explain to him my initial resistance with some pre-fabricated story, also not very far from the truth; we'll say he reminds me someone, and that's why I was reserved at first." She paused to breath, but Damon interrupted her.
"You wanted me to think that all those giveaways you slip during the trip were intentional? You should know better than to think me blind, Enn."
He was still angry, but he was calling her by her nickname.
"You think whatever you want to. But the thing is: it worked. The isolation thing is quite easily explained by the threat Morgoth was – we could always say we descend from a bunch of elves that survived one of those endless wars and retreated. But then Morgoth was defeated, and we shut out from the world. Simple – believable. Nobody will question. Although I don't suggest it -the least you say, the more unlikely it is to be caught…"
"But that's what I'm trying to tell you, you're saying too much!"
"But right now, what else could I do? We could charm the wizard because –" she paused, and cast several silencing spells on the room. Just to be on the safe side. "We could charm the wizard because he was hurt, and defenseless. This is different; I don't want to take any chances. Not with so many people around, and I certainly don't want anyone to know that we can perform magic. But they are not idiots, and this is a time of war, people get suspicious of shadows these days. We couldn't simply come from behind a stone and not tell anything beside our names. They would request a nation, what side we are on, and all that. On their position, we'd do the same."
Damon looked at her through narrowed eyes. Those pale-blue eyes of his assumed the piercing manner of Dumbledore's, and on occasion Harry's, Sirius' and Severus'. The kind that pierced your soul and laid it bare.
'Thank goodness I had training with that, too.' She thought, with her mind firmly shut. It didn't strike her as odd, his was shut as well. Honestly, they shared lots, but they'd eventually miss privacy. Like right then.
"Right then." he said, not entirely convinced. He then shrugged in a careless way that sent shivers down her spine – the bad kind of shivers. "Next time you come up with brilliant ideas, do let me know first."
"I'll let you know whatever you need to know, Damon. But do not think you can ask for control over my person, not even the Queen has it. I am my very own Mistress, and I'll give no one else any power over me. Do you understand it?" she hissed, in a very impatient, very gryffindor way.
"I do. But remember where your allegiances lay."
"What the hell?"
But Damon was already gone, casting a Memory Charm on the guard. She only had time to multiply the provisions and the door was opened again. A low-rank soldier. Possibly infantry.
"The King wishes to speak with you, milady."
'Oh, fuck it. How worse could my day get? And we were not even attacked yet…'
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It was almost midnight –the blackest night most of them remembered, even if rain clouds usually made the night sky look purple. But not that night, that night the clouds made the sky look blacker. Éomer and Aragorn had already organized their two thousand people as they could – some in the dam, but most of them in the walls of Helm's fortress, and some in the Tower.
But the soldier that were guarding the dam had to withdraw to the solid stonewalls when the army of orcs and southern men blew it down. Five hundred men sprang in a desperate race to the gates while they still could. Arrows fled in the dark, and yet no response came from Helm's Deep. Aragorn had gone down to the gates to push the enemies away. He returned later with Gimli saying that he, Gimli, has saved his, Aragorn's, and Éomer's lives.
When the dwarf returned, he caressed the blade of the axe lovingly, gloating at Legolas. "I killed two!"
"Two?! I got a better score, thought now I have to search for arrows in the darkness –mine are gone. Nevertheless, my count is at least twenty. But that's no more than a few leaves in the forest."
And three times they defended the gates in desperate fury, three times the enemy approached them, and each time they stopped closer. All arrow and spear had been thrown.
Or almost all of them. Arien and Damon kept vigil on the east part of the walls, shooting arrow after arrow in the dark. If anyone noticed or found odd that their quivers didn't go empty, they did not say. And they didn't have time for it, because the orcs had managed to climb the wall and were invading the patio inside. They were not awfully smart, at least not the common kind of orcs, but they were persistent, coming in successive waves to be killed by the warriors inside the fortress.
But of course, numbers did favor them.
"Khazâd! Khazâd ai menu!" cried Gimli, waving his axe expertly in several orcs. "Come, master Legolas! There are orcs enough for both of us!"
They slayed the orcs in little time, their differences completing each other's skills wonderfully. They were a hell of a team. Legolas moved with grace and cat-like fluidity, making of the act of killing an art, and his eyes gleamed in cold fury and purpose. Gimli moved solidly, but by no means slowly –any orc that stood near him was reduced to pieces in a moment's time, and in his deep brown eyes the joy of battle was clear. Soon they were only a foul-smelling pile of carcasses on the floor.
"Your kind is distinguished for being experts on the stone working, Master Gimli. Could you not help us restore these walls?" asked Gamlimd, an old man who was in the fortification before they came. He was to lead the West fold's people in the absence of Erkebrand.
"We do not dig into stone with battle axes, nor with our bare hands. But I will help you if I can." Gimli said, and requested any stone and wood they had spare to fix the flaw. One hour later, he goes back his place, and finds Legolas sharpening his long elven knives, while Aragorn and Éomer discussed strategy in hurriedly. It was two in the morning, and the enemy had not yet attacked in full force – and the waiting was insufferable.
"Twenty-one, master Legolas!" cried Gimli, beaming. Legolas raised his clear eyes from the knives and smiled.
"Good. But now my score is two dozens at least – up here the work was done with knives."
"Run out of arrows, master Legolas?" asked Damon, approaching. He carried a bunch of arrows on his hands. As the question was merely rhetorical, he offered some them to the elf. "I got more from the towers, we ran out of them in our platform."
"I appreciate it, Master Damon."
"Think nothing of it. Aragorn, what do you say? Do we stay at the platform or would you like us to change places?"
"I rather liked you on the eastern watch platform, Damon. From there you can help keeping the gates."
"As you wish. Now, if you excuse me." The slytherin said, bowing to them, and left.
"That's not fair! This is cheating!" shouted Gimli, playfully. Legolas arched an elegant eyebrow (the kind of eyebrow that would look feminine in anyone else…).
"That's only the weapon, Master Gimli, I still have to use my skills to score. But would you prefer me to return the gift?"
"No, it's not necessary. I'll still outscore you."
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"Satisfied?" Damon hissed.
"Very. Honestly, Damie, chill out. Last time I checked, I was the child of the duo."
"I can't help but think I'm betraying Antar."
"You're not betraying Antar. Antar sent us with strict orders to help them, so we are doing that."
"I know. But every time I look at them, I remember the words my father told me, the horrors they lived…"
"They are not the same people, Damon-- Hey, do you know if they invented dynamite already?"
"Why do you ask me? You're the one who goes wandering around."
"Because that thing glowing white looks a lot like explosive to me."
"Load your bow." Said Damon grimly, and they started to shoot arrow after arrow. But it didn't work out as they planned –there was always another orc to take the explosive from the fallen one and advance some more towards the walls of the barrage. They knew they couldn't hold for long - there were thousands of them around. The renegades were only buying time.
"Get off the dam! Go back!" Damon yelled at the westfold man who were still defending the vulnerable dam, but they had trouble believing the half-elven, for whatever reason. The withdrawal was lingering.
BOOM.
Water and orcs invaded the valley immediately, and in waves –the battle for Helm's deep had really begun. Of course the rohirrim army hurried to push them away, but there were too many of them.
So many.
Chaos everywhere in the valley bellow, only two archers still shooting, from the east platform – everyone else had ran down to the breach. The waves of orcs and men forcing them to retreat, till the voice of The King's captain was heard.
"To the Hornburg! Go back inside!" cried Háma, trying to be heard above the screams of battle. The rohirrim obeyed as they could –some went back to the tower, the final safe spot after the walls and the dam had been broken; others hid on the glittering caves. With great anxiety Damon saw that most of the soldiers were already inside, and that they would be trapped out.
Aragorn was still outside. Legolas was protecting him, his last arrow in his bow.
"Go back Aragorn! All are in." Said the elf. Aragorn turned, but he was worn out and, due to his weariness, tripped on his feet. The horde of Uruk-Hai and ordinary orcs was waiting for just that, and jumped ahead to get him. Legolas' arrow pierced the first orc's throat, and several other arrows took care of the rest of them. That was the moment in which Aragorn, from the door of hornburg, looked up to see who was shooting, and saw the renegades placid and calm in their spots up in the eastern platform, shooting arrow after arrow at unbelievable speed, in every direction.
"They are alone." Said Aragorn in awe, marvelling once again at the deadly beauty of an Eldar in battle. They were surrounded by who knows how many thousand orcs, with no possible way of escape; two elves with a half-empty quiver and swords, trapped outside for staying were they were ordered to. "We must go to their rescue!"
"Yes, but now you are distracting them! They'll need those arrows to protect themselves rather than you. Get inside so we can gather our forces." Said the elf, millennia of orc-fighting and battling of experience speaking practically. Only in his eyes Aragorn could see emotion, and that because they knew each other for the better part of sixty years.
They had left them to stand alone.
It hurt him like a thousand stabs could not possibly do. And Gandalf – how would Aragorn ever face Gandalf after that?
But Legolas was right, of course. Aragorn was yet to see the day the elven prince of Mirkwood would be proven wrong. So he hastily entered hornburg
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Damon let out an impressive amount of imprecations. The only thing he did not attack was Aragorn's sexuality, but then again he had made several cruel comments about the 'friendship' of Legolas and Gimli, so that may not count.
Okay, so the quivers wouldn't go empty –but then again, now they had the wraith of thousands of orcs directed only at them. Sooner or later they would get hurt.
"Let's get out of here." The slytherin said.
"Are you mad? We can't apparate into hornburg, how would we ex-"
"Not into hornburg, but definitely out of here." He said, using one arrow as a dagger to hit one orc who had managed to climb the platform, only to retrieve it, oblivious to the dying creature fallen on his feet, and load that same arrow against the ones climbing a stair to the section the renegades were at. Arien shot at the ropes keeping the stair in position and it fell with great noise.
"We can make it to the caves." He cried in antarian –they did not know if the orcs could understand elfish, but they certainly could understand Westron –and no antarian would willingly use sindarin rather than their own tongue. Arien shuddered.
"Like hell I'm going to the caves! I had enough of that in Moria!"
"Fuck, for a moment I forgot you were claustrophobic."
It was a testament of how upset he was that he was swearing. But then again, he had been for the last ten minutes.
"Let's go to the peak of the mountains. We can have a better view from there, and deci-"
"Fine. Go!" Damon cut, and Arien knew he was ordering it because they had no much more time. They bent down in order to block themselves from the orcs' sight, and apparated.
From the peak of the Southern Mountains they had a better view of what was going on, and no orc would be capable of spotting them. It was terrible. They had, God knows how, managed to destroy almost half of Saruman's forces, but the remnants were more than enough to take over Helm's deep, regardless of its fame.
There was no way in hell they could win against them. Not without extensive use of magic, that is.
It was four in the morning. Dawn would come in two hours, at most. But then what? The amount of Uruk-Hai there was enough to take the stronghold.
Arien was brought from her reverie by an acute and extremely annoyingly fierce pain on her right hand – her wand hand. "Ouch!" she cried, clutching her right arm in a vain attempt of blocking the pain. Her fingers assumed a claw-like position, the nerves sending chaotic messages to her overworn muscles.
"Now what?" Damon spat, looking very dangerous under his thick eyelashes.
"Cramps. My arms hurt." She whined. Damon swore a bit more, but took her right arm in his, and proceeded to untie her arm protections so he could massage her forearm with some efficiency. A good fifteen minutes later her muscles were more relaxed, and her groans of pain had become less frequent. From the top of the mountain they could still see the torches of the orcs dimly illuminating the Tower, and the position of the stars in the sky telling them dawn would not be long.
"What do we do now?" she asked, when her aching nerves had been somewhat dulled.
"How should I know? I'd asked you that before you went writhing in pain." Arien glared at him in a way that would make Snape cry with bursting pride over his most – or shall we say only –beloved pupil (in more ways than one), but Damon didn't move an inch.
"Damon, kindly go fuck yourself somewhere where you don't bother me with your foul mood. I'm trying to be practical here."
The older renegade stared at her with a hatred so deep it succeed in scaring her witless. With a very subtle movement she assured herself her wand was secured safely right were it should be as she held Damon's gaze. Fortunately she found out that she wasn't the source of the feeling, when he started speaking.
"Those frigging bastards left us alone!" he roared, his face becoming a pale tone of red, " I told you they were not to be trusted! But no, perfect lil' Ravenclaw, so smart and everything, just had to get her way on things. We could have simply walked into Mordor and destroyed that fucking ring ourselves; nobody needed to know about it! That bloody hobbit could even take credit over it – I don't care! Instead we get trapped in what must be the very worst battle in Middle-earth ever-"
"If you think this was the worst battle in Middle-earth ever, you obviously haven't had any history classes. Small wonder, given the isolation of the republic." Arien dared to object, but Damon kept going as if he hadn't heard anything of it. He was not himself right now, all cool demeanour and carefully built composure gone, and he didn't even retort to the traditional slytherin verbal attack, he was freaking out in pure Gryffindor style, all righteous indignation.
"And don't you dare defend them or saying it was unimportant, headmistress, I remember quite well your stories about the war to know that you hated it when your team didn't cover your back!" he yelled, and then his handsome face was suddenly blank. "I wonder why you're being so tolerant this time. Have the years teach you patience, my dear friend?"
His cruel remarks were a sign he was turning back to slytherin mode – true Malfoy-the-git (B.G. – Before Ginny) style. It should be reassuring, but it wasn't.
"This may not be the greatest battle Middle-earth had ever seen, but it is a very hard battle, Damon. May I remind you, they're outnumbered. Badly. Two stonewalls have fallen, and the third won't hold much longer – you should know that." She said as icily, hoping against hope her stare was a fair reflection of his. Apparently he saw the light of reason, and the muscles on his neck and shoulders relaxed slightly.
"I hate them." He said with passion, although his voice had returned to the cool and even manner of always. "They assume so much, they thought they could leave us alone to die."
"There's no way they could know what we are, Damie." She argumented, her voice a caress. Damon was not, something told her, angry just because of this particular incident, he was angry because of something else, something very important but she couldn't put her finger on it. It would be too easy to scream in frustration but she knew that she had to be calm, and try reason with him. As much as her, he had grown up with stories of fear and horror haunting his steps, but he had never been shown the relativism and singularity of each being. He had been taken away, raised in the security of Antar, yet expecting that an army would come to the republic any day to make a bloodshed.
She had been forced to face her demons, and live among humans. She had feared them, even as she lived among them, but also loved them. Damon knew only the fear, and the hate.
"This is a war, Damon, and there was no way for them to come rescue us. It would waste too many lives to attempt, and they don't have those lives to spare." She whispered.
"So we are dispensable? Like plastic cups or sacs of garbage?" his eyes gleamed in the dark, and his let hand massaging her right hand tightened its hold.
"We are not. It s just what it is, Damon – an unfortunate incident. You haven't fought any war before this, no matter how proficient you may be in combat, but this is just..." she paused, searching for words he could understand, even when she knew, in the deepth of her heart, that he wouldn't. "Sometimes you must sacrifice some people in order to save the majority. Some times, Damon, you cannot go back to save someone, and it's just the way things are. It doesn't mean you don't like them, and it doesn't mean they have to be angry if they manage to survive on their on. It's just the way things are. " She repeated, shrugging her shoulders and feeling a complete idiot under his stare. Every now and again her pupils would show her how utterly naive and inexperienced she is.
"That's it? That's the way things – that's the way things are, and sorry buddy, we really appreciate all you've done, but we can't save your sorry ---"
"Dawning. We'll be visible as soon as the sun rises." She cut him.
"I'll make a favour to those orcs down there and explode the fucking hornburg!" Damon cried, as the sky began showing the first signs of purple and pale pink. "That would teach the bastards a thing of how things just are."
"We came here under strict order from the Queen to help the free people of Middle-Earth before Sauron got too strong, and that is exactly what we will do." She hissed, yanking her arm free from his grasp and clasping her metal arm protection back on. "We will do exactly as the Council told us to, and if you have a problem with that you will report back to Antar right now, lad." She said, vaguely aware that calling Damon a 'lad' was downright ridiculous. "I don't need a partner that freaks out over his own problems. You apparate back in Aryan, and I'll go on with the mission alone."
"Me, freaking out?" he said incredulously.
"You, freaking out. This is your perfect window of opportunity, Damie –you go home, and I tell them you got splinted by orcs protecting me as I retreated."
"That wouldn't work." He said emotionlessly.
"Why ever not?"
"Elves don't run away when their comrades fall, that's something they just don't do."
"Then you just died, period, and I didn't, for whatever reason. Good luck to the guy who'll try to find your corpse." Arien retorted angrily.
"I will stay, and we will proceed as planned."
"Then you better get a grip, Damon." She snapped, but then gave up –the slytherin could be pushed only so far, and she had no intention of dealing with what would happen when he exploded. Time to change the line of work. "I need you, Damon, but I need you in control."
His gaze had an odd glint in, but his voice was once again warm, and his arms wrapped themselves around her as the sun bathed them in golden glory. "Of course, my dear."
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Aragorn had taken a group of his most reckless, brave men –and elf– available to go to the rescue of their new acquaintances, but ill luck, there was not a trace of them when they finally managed to reach the platform. An absurdly high amount of dead orcs all around testified that whatever they did, they made sure to take a great deal of the orcs to hell before.
And no corpse was in sight, but whether that news was good news was yet to be known.
And come to think of it, how did they get so many arrows?
He returned to the tower of hornburg, after Legolas grimly pointed that there was no point in searching for Gandalf's friends. They were neither in the platform, nor in the stone stairs, nor anywhere around. It had been difficult enough to tell him Gimli was –hopefully – in the glittering caves with Éomer. His whole body ached but he could not relax, there were preparations to make, the door to reinforce, men to encourage, vigils to watch.
"Wait for me in the first light of the fifth day. At dawn, look east." Gandalf has said. This was the fifth day, and the sun was coming up anytime now.
"Bring us the king!" cried the Uruk-Hai.
"The king comes and goes as he wishes." Said Aragorn.
"So what are you doing here?" they mocked, laughing. "Do you want to see how great our army is? We are the fighting Uruk-Hai."
"I'm looking out to see the dawn." He replied simply.
"What about the dawn? We are the fighting Uruk-Hai, we don't stop the battle day or night, good weather or rain. We are the fighting Uruk-Hai!"
"Nobody knows what the new day brings. Go away, or else you shall regret it."
He was clad in power and majesty, and some of the men stopped in awe. But the orcs laughed harder, and shot several arrows just as Aragorn jumped down the wall back inside the tower.
And the orcs forced the doors of hornburg open with some more explosive, as Aragorn ran back to the tower, and the remaining rohirrim hurriedly assumed a defensive line around the king. Horse masters that they were, they were already on their horses, ready to face the enemy.
And then several voices were heard in the air, and the horn sounded strong in the valley. Some of the orcs threw themselves to the ground.
And they found that they were trapped between the riders of hornburg, some very suspicious-looking trees and the riders of Erkebrand – he was not dead, and Gandalf had gathered all the forces that had been scattered.
Dawn had come.
The king rode forth with Aragorn and his rohirrim knights, and the two armies closed upon the orcs and barbarians. In the great gate of the dam they met, and moved towards the forest. Gandalf appeared from the trees, forcing the orcs to run. But from the trees none walked away alive.
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And then from the dam those who had sought shelter in the caves came out, and pleasantries were exchanged, they were all happy on seeing one another alive. Gimli had his head bandaged.
"Once again you come in the hour of need, unexpected guest!" said Éomer.
"Unexpected? But I said I would go back to meet you here."
"But you told not the time, nor the way." Said Arien, jumping down from one of the trees. Her companion appeared right after her.
"And you brought us a strange help. You are a mighty wizard, Gandalf!" whispered Éomer.
"That's possible," conceded Gandalf. "But this has nothing to do with magic – all I did was giving good advise in a dark time, and use the speed of Shadowfax. The rest is due to your own valour, and the legs of the westfold men, who marched all night."
The men looked at the forest with amazement, and seeing that Gandalf laughed. "The trees? That's not my magic; this is an ancient power in action. This happening turned out better than my scheming, and even better than my hopes." Said Gandalf.
"If it is not your doing, who's doing it is? Not Saruman, that is clear. Is there another wizard we know not of?" asked Theoden.
The renegades exchanged a brief mischievous glance. Buddy, you have NO idea.
"This is not magic, but rather a very ancient power. And now I must head to Isengard. There are a few things I must sort out."
And the king went with Gandalf to plan the trip to Isengard. The unwounded were sent to collect the wounded and bury the dead. And a group of twenty were sent to get some rest before the riding –they would accompany the king and the White Knight to Orthanc, Saruman's Tower and stronghold. But Gandalf had said they were 'going to talk, not break in.'
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They worked hard healing the wounded, even when that was a very difficult job for lack of provisions. Arien had lectured Damon three times to get out of the fucking way if he was not going to help. He did help, but wasn't glad about it.
"You!" Arien called a young lad who couldn't be any older than fourteen, "Go fetch me some water. Hurry! And you," she commanded another," go get as much clean fabric you can find."
"Yes, milady." The lads said, and broke in a run.
"Good grace, this just never ends." She whispered. Not fifteen minutes ago she had held a boy till he died, crying for his mother. Damon tried, half-heartedly, to make her see the need of attending those who had a chance, but she had raised her face and dared him to continue. 'You go,' she had said, and rocked the child till he stopped breathing.
But then there was a man with a sword wound on his side that required her immediate attention.
'And it's not as if I'm that good a healer either. If at least I could have a mediwizard here…'Not ten feet away from them Aragorn was tending Gimli's head injury. Fortunately the helm absorbed most of the impact – not to mention the hard skull of dwarves… - but even so, a blow in your head is always dangerous. Gimli would agree, if anyone else had been hurt like that, but he had been the victim, and for some reason he just wouldn't admit weakness in front of the elves. He even insisted on going to Orthanc with them.
At dusk the committee set out to Isengard, but actually passing the trees was somewhat of a delicate matter. Gandalf took the lead, and they rode through it. The light was fading quickly, and even the mortals felt the trees murmuring in hatred.
Nobody saw a single orc from the thousands who had run into the forest.
They rode on in silence, and Legolas would have stopped many times, if not for Gimli whining and Gandalf urging him on.
"These are the strangest trees I've ever seen, and I've seen many oaks from the time they were nuts to the time they rottened. I wish I had time to walk among them."
"NO! Leave them. I know what they think, they hate all that moves around in legs, and speak of suffocate and scratch."
"Not all that moves in two legs, Gimli. It's the orcs they hate."
"What happened to you," Aragorn slipped a little back in the line to be close to the renegades. "We made a searching party but couldn't find you anywhere."
"I see, "answered Damon blankly.
**'Get a fucking grip, Damie!'
"We ran. I know it doesn't sound very good, and I doubt anyone could make a lay out of it, but we figured we'd be more useful alive. So we retreated and escaped to the mountains. Then we saw Gandalf coming from up there and joined him."
No one of elven heritance could miss Aragorn's sigh of relief.
**'See? He was worried about us.'
**'Don't push your luck.'
"I am glad," Aragorn said with feeling, even if his voice was still low. "We were worried for a moment."
"--Strange are the ways of Men, Legolas! Here they have one of the wonders of the Northern world, and what do they call it? Caves to take refuge in times of war! My good Legolas, did you know the caves of Helm are large and beautiful? There would be a pilgrimage of dwarves just to appreciate them, if they were known. In fact, they'd pay gold for a glance."
Arien shifted uncomfortable in her saddle.
"And I would give gold not to visit them!" said Legolas, "and I'd pay the double to leave, if I got lost in there."
'An elf after my own heart.'
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A.N: Lia: wow! You're the first one to point that out (apart from my beta Queen). Yes, I have something in store for that particular thing, as well as some other stuff I left hanging in the air in the previous chapters. Arien will know about the love between Aragorn and Arwen, and we'll learn a lot more about the cultural differences yet. I'll say, however, that things will get a bit more complicated… lots of disharmony to come, spiced with some more fighting and a tad of romance. (After all, this IS a romance/Adventure/Action, isn't it?)