A.N: on with the show!
The so-called fluffy stuff at the end is not the fluffiest of all things, though… it is what I think would be the only explanation for my desired goal. I most humbly think I achieved it. My only doubt in the subject is if I should have separated the romance (At long last!) part from the rest, but I decided to let it where it is.
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Chapter Ten: Pelennor – Part II"I would die for you,
walk the wire for you,
I would lie for you
Yeah, I'd die for you
You know it's true
Everything I do
I do it for you" Everything I do (I do it for you), Bryan Adams.
"Not that I loved Caesar less,
but that I loved Rome more."
Julius Caesar, Shakespeare.
@ Minas Tirith, Gondor. March 16th of 3019.
01:00 h.
She almost made the gruesome mistake of walking into the meeting side by side with him. At the last minute, she sensed her companions inside the palace, and told him something about searching for Selton.
She knew Selton was already in the room with the others, but the spirits were rather exalted for her to provoke them so.
When Arien entered the meeting room, a small crowd was there already. Aragorn and his cousin Halbarad, the sons of Elrond, Legolas, Gandalf, Imrahil, Forlong, Éomer and Faramir, Selton her second in command, plus other eight people she couldn't recognise.
The council of the captains had begun.
They exchanged theirs statistics, how many people they still had and discussed what should be the best course of action. When they were done, Gandalf explained to them the Quest of the Ring, and how a couple of brave little hobbits were presently sneaking into the very core of Mordor to destroy the One.
"... I'd feel better if we could distract Sauron's attention so he would not look too closely in his own lands." He ended his speech.
"We are now cornered and struggling for our own survival, Mithrandir," Imrahil interrupted with much practised diplomatic ease. "he has us all exactly where he wanted, and we have no conditions of doing much more than defending our own position."
Gandalf turned his head, looking at all present. Selton nodded his negative, gravely.
"No, Gandalf. We are few, and cannot eliminate all the strength of Mordor in a day, or even two. It will take some time, and long days of fighting."
"Dawn to dusk, probably," Arien interrupted. "Or longer."
Gandalf sighed deeply. Aragorn hung his head low.
"I was wishing we could alleviate the Ringbearer's burden," Isildur's heir said in a whisper. Legolas tilted his head as if he was about to look at Arien, but didn't.
"We will do all that we can do," Faramir cut him off. "But lord Selton is right, this siege will be long. Although..."
"Although what?" Gandalf asked. Faramir had everybody's attention now.
"There are paths under the mountain, which are both old and forgotten."
Silence reigned for a few minutes.
"I am torn," Gandalf said, "For leaving the city would be vulnerable, but staying, all would be lost."
"Not all," Arien said. "If the passages are safe they would lead us many miles from here, and then we'd have to go all the way around and thus lose many days. I say we stay a few days more. Then we will be able to diminish the odds or even defeat the army standing before the gates, and then an army will be able to leave using the straightest path. I daresay the delay would be the same."
"And even if Sauron gets back the ring, there will be resistance for many millennia. He does not know us yet, but now we know him, and we won't stay impassible." Selton said.
Arien beamed. Her babies were growing!
"How many days would that be?" Gandalf asked.
Arien looked at Selton.
Selton looked at Arien.
**'how long do you think it'd take for us to clean that mess?" Selton asked.
**'Two, three days. Maybe four. We'd need to attack full force, as long as we could. Say three days.'
"Give us three days." The Gryffindor pronounced.
"You think you can defeat them in three days?" Éomer asked disbelieving.
"No, but it should be enough to give you a chance." Arien stated.
"I think it should be best," Faramir agreed. "There are many secret paths in the wild that lead to Mordor, and the journey should be faster if we travel in a straight line. If the lady says we could travel in three days, I'd tally the suggestion."
"We cannot endure a journey to Mordor as it is now," Éomer said. "Not if we aim to arrive there with strength enough to poise as a threat."
"Selton, were the archers replaced?" Arien asked her friend while the captains discussed the pros and cons of going to Mordor in three days.
"Yes, they are resting now. The new group has been on position for six hours now."
"Maybe we should replace them a bit faster. Say, every six hours. Let them rest two hours before joining the battle again."
Selton thought a bit. "I'll tell them so."
"That's settled then," Gandalf said, looking as if he wanted to go to Mordor that minute. "We wait three days, and leave then."
"We'll resume the offensive in two hours." The redheaded said. "Feel free to join when you have gathered enough rest.
"We will not stay looking from the window while you fight this war, milady!" Eomer cried outraged.
"What Arien meant is, you should be exhausted when you leave the battlefield, not when you arrive," Selton soothed him.
In fear the humans would push their soldiers against their obvious exhaustion, Arien gave orders to rest till dawn.
God knows she needed the rest herself.
Although she had the feeling something was really wrong, beyond her grasp, Arien went to bed and slept like the dead for the next three hours.
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Sauron kept his grudges for long.
For many yens, he had carefully planned his revenge. The little confrontation in Dol Guldur had certainly been frustrating, as he did not wish to be thrown away so easily –but in spite of its ideal localisation, Sauron did not have the time to reinforce the structure to make it as strong as Barad-dur had once been. So he returned to his old fortress, and there he attracted all that could help him regain his rightful place as Lord of all Middle Earth.
It was bad enough that he had been driven away from Dol Guldur. It was even worse that a halfling currently held his Ring in Saruman's dungeons, and the wizard did not respond to his calls anymore. He'd sent the Wraiths several times to find it, and every time it escaped. And now, to increase his aggravation further, Minas Tirith had received enough bolstering to resist a long time.
And how on Ëa those elves managed to arrive there anyway? Sauron had seen to it that the elven strongholds that might think about aiding would be too busy for that.
Not that it mattered much in the end. The city would eventually fall – he knew it, for he had planned it. Even without his Ring, Sauron was a master manipulator.
He had manipulated many before he had it forged.
Sauron could wait – to some extent. After all, the ring would corrupt whomever held it now and return to him in the end. It was just that he did not wish to, not with Isildur's heir alive and walking under the sun.
After all he had done to end the accursed line!
His seeing stone glowed indigo in the dark room, and the maia knew his long-time opponent was up for another round. For decades now they struggled with one another, setting their wills to see the other's soul and minds.
But Denethor was only naïve enough to believe he could ever win. He could, at best, delay the failure – it would be wise to stop while he had had the chance. But he kept coming, sometimes once a year, sometimes once a month.
And through that Palantír, Sauron read much. The Steward was finally defeated. He would yet cause segregation amongst his enemies and make his victory sweeter.
Split and rule.
The maia sent his servants to wherever Antar was. He'd left a corner uncovered –and after millennia fighting the elves, he knew how deadly that could be.
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All inside Minas Tirith that could wield a sword gathered near the Great Gate at dawn. But the break had been as good to them as it had been to the southrons and orcs.
Once again the enemies met in Pelennor, and once again the fighting lasted all day long whilst the corpses pilled on the ground, making it difficult to move. There was little or no chance to recover the wounded, and thus few returned to the White City that could not walk on their own legs.
The southrons retorted to using the trebuchet once more, still trying to break the gate that remained stubbornly intact under their onslaught.
And a couple of hours after the setting sun, Arien ordered a retreat.
This time Damon did find her to ask what was going on.
The gates closed in behind her when Damon grabbed her hand and pulled her to the next reasonably deserted corner of the neighbourhood.
"What is this? Why did you ordered a retreat?" he asked coolly.
"Nice to see you, too, Damon."
He didn't even bat an eyelash. "What happened?"
"I am tired."
"You can't be impossibly tired, we have only been fighting for a day," the slytherin snapped.
"I will not exhaust us without need. Damon, those people out there are not soldiers, okay? They volunteered, and I won't push them out of their limits just to look good. We can deal with the break. We're doing a great job here." Arien defended herself, feeling offended in the way he was questioning her judgement.
Damon stared hard at her, before looking away. "Sorry, love. I just wanted this all to be over soon."
Arien smiled slightly. "It will take a little longer than a few hours, Damie."
"I missed you," he declared to her surprise.
"Good," she grinned. "maybe now you give me the valour I deserve."
"I'm not sure you want to receive what you deserve." He grinned too.
"You sneak!" she pretended to be outraged but laughed hard when he embraced her and swirled her around.
For that one moment, all was right with the world.
The enemy kept bombarding them all night long, and they continued shooting arrows in the dark till the sun rose again. And then everything started again, with a new fury.
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March 19th of 3019 T.A.
The third and final day of their deadline did not bring any hope.
Sauron was always one step ahead of them, in every decision they had made, he was there before. Although the allies of Gondor had fought valiantly day and night with few hours for the inevitable rest, when the horns blew two hours before dawn signalling the time for a new offensive, the Friendly Forces found that the dark Lord had sent reinforcements to his troops.
And with that amount of foes before them, they had no way but waiting more or risking the mountain paths. But there was no way in which a decent force could leave through the secret passages without being caught much before they could reach Mordor, so they stood.
"Why aren't we finished already, Selton?" Damon asked when the horns called them back, a few hours before midnight. "We could reveal ourselves and get done with this quickly."
"I do not think that should be wise," Selton countered, rubbing his chin. Gray eyes stared into his slytherin friend as he explained his point of view. "I now see this Sauron is much more powerful than we first believed him to be. If we reveal ourselves to him while he can yet do harm, he will stop what little worry he has now with his other foes and concentrate his malice on us and on Antar. No, " he shook his head, "We must conceal ourselves for as long as we can and not let him realise what they are dealing with until he is weak and powerless."
"It appears that we have switched places, my friend," Damon smiled. "It is I who am rushing into the fight and you who are thinking your way out of it. But you are one of the wise among us, yet I have much to learn."
Selton clasped his classmate's arm. "You have much in yourself, Damie, that you do not know yet. But this is a new experience for all of us and it is natural that we are still getting used to this. Just do not forget that our enemy is not only powerful but full of malice and have corrupted many people in his ascension to power. Beware."
"I will try to hold myself, my friend. It is only this stalemate unnerves me."
"It unnerves me also. I can't wait for this to be over, but we must wait."
"Speaking of which, have you seen Arien? I haven't talked to her since yesterday."
"She's hiding from me, I guess. I'm afraid the little one has very little patience with this old renegade. I have driven her mad with questions and plans and suggestions, and she took some time off to recover her poise."
Damon sneered, "Arien loses her patience over the smallest things. When we were travelling companions we fought nearly everyday." After Helm's Deep, that is.
Selton arched one blond eyebrow. "Oh, and I thought that was a prerogative of mine."
"It is not." Damon said with amusement, and took leave to go take his shift at the archer's line.
"Interesting. I wonder what exactly were those smallest things you fought about?" Selton mused to himself, before going to meet Gandalf.
Very nice fellow, that Gandalf. Selton was growing extremely fond of him. It was not everyone who could actually give him some challenge at the chessboard.
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Arien sat at the roots of the tree with her heart beating wildly. She didn't even know why she was doing that.
It had started out quite innocently, actually. They met at the garden and talked when he was upset. Then the next day she happened to be walking at the paths again and he was there, sitting up on a branch. That happened every night after the battle was called to a halt, they would refresh themselves and then go to their park to walk and talk.
Only if Damon found out about it, it would go all the way down the hill. Damie was slightly xenophobic.
Speaking of which, opinions in the antarian army were divided. Some of the renegades were starting to see the world beyond Antar's walls with other eyes, realising the elves and men were not the monsters they pictured before. Some decided to wait and see how things developed with more examples to draw a conclusion from. Others were too caught up in the old prejudices and couldn't let go of the grudge.
Damon belonged to the last group. Arien could see it in his eyes when they were walking around Minas Tirith or met either Legolas, Elladan or Elrohir. Which was stupid, because technically the twins were peredhil also, even if Arien had issued specific orders not to call them so. It was best not to make a mess out of it, they had other things to think of.
She had chosen a light dressrobe for that night, even though she could not say the reason why. It would complicate everything. And yet, there she was .
And it's not as if I am in a V neck red dress or something. It's just that my uniform was dirty and I washed it. Right?
"Mae govannen," he greeted. Legolas was always so polite and proper. He had taken time to lecture her about language when they were in the middle of the battle and he was practically berserk with grief.
"Greetings," she replied simply. She would not be the one entering a good manners contest with an elven prince. No way.
They sat in silence for some time, whilst Legolas stole one furtive glance to her odd clothes and then stared straight ahead as the gentleman he was. Arien, however, was enjoying herself immensely with his curiosity.
"Come on, you may ask. I know you want to."
"Ask what, my lady?"
wish I was, Legolas.
"Don't be daft," she teased him. He needed some joy in his life, that was for certain, and everybody was busy with the war. This was not a joyful time, but she could make it more bearable for him. "About the clothes. I know you're curious about them."
"You assume to know what goes in my mind?" he asked, making an effort to be once again the light being he once was. There was so much death around. He could smell it all the time.
"This, my lord, is a dressrobe. It's customary in the lands I live in. Very practical."
He had removed his tunic and was clad in his breeches and chemise. "Oh." He whispered, as if he had not been dying to find out what the heck that thing was. "Practical for what, pray tell?"
"For a great many things, Legolas. For many things." She replied mischievously, congratulating herself in the way his cheeks warmed ever so slightly.
"Hiril nîn, I do not think that..."
'oh shit, he got it wrong. Well, actually he got it right, but...'
"Don't flatter yourself, Legolas. My uniform was dirty and I got it washed. This is comfortable, easy to pack and was available. Simple as that."
'Great, now I'm talking about laundry with the guy I fancy. And someone ever believes I got sorted into Ravenclaw? I should have been a Hufflepuff.'
Legolas smiled. "It was indeed improper of me to assume things, milady. I apologise."
"Arien."
"Umin hanyalyë..." he whispered, in quenya again. Sometimes he forgot and spoke with her thus, but Arien didn't mind because she chose to think he was comfortable with her.
"Man Úhanyanelye?"
"Why you said that? I do not understand."
"I do not like people calling me lady. I am not one, so why bother." She explained as if it was the most rational thing in the world.
"You lead your people in this war." He stated seriously.
Light dawned.
"Oh, no! Legolas, I thought I had explained before. In Antar, leadership is a job you undertake when needs arise, in the senate, in the Royal board. This is the first time ever that Antar went to war and it just happened that they do not have experience in it."
"But you do."
"Adar was a general. Soldiers coming in and out of the house all the time. Loads of books about warcraft –and one couldn't let a book next to me and have it remain untouched. It is thus to this day." She smiled at the memories. She could have said she learned the most in the Wizarding World war, but how could she break the news to him? It was bad enough that she belonged to a nation of xenophobic freaks she'd take years to smooth down. No need to make things more complicated. "So I grew up learning about the great campaigns. Dad would have me sit on his lap and listening to the battles he had fought, or his forbears had."
"It is strange that a man would tell his daughter such things. Wasn't he afraid you might not take it well?"
"No. He was only afraid I did not know how to recognise danger. 'knowledge is power', my father used to say. He wanted me to know what to do if need came."
She wanted to ask about his father, but did not have heart to break the fragile trust they had established.
"A wise man."
"He did not need to be wise. He was my father, and I adored him, that was all that mattered to me. But yes, he knew much about life. And had a heart worth his weight in mithril. Although I'm biased in this matter."
He smiled faintly. "Maybe we should head back."
Arien felt her heart sink. It only figured she would fall in love with someone who saw her as a very gifted, bright person, but still a child. Yet again.
Maybe she should check if that Curse the Valar cast upon Feanor's house had not passed to other people in the exile. That amount of bad luck just couldn't be natural.
They walked in silence to the paths that led to the exit of the park. The night was calm in spite of the Nazgûls' attempts to invade the city. It was so peaceful there, with no stressed captains or anxious soldiers or know-it-all ex-students questioning her all the time. No. She would not leave her haven so soon.
"You may go if you wish , Legolas," she said quietly. There was no need to bind him to a tradition they started carelessly and that clearly didn't hold any appeal to him anymore. But she was not about to leave that little place yet. "I want to stay here for some time."
"Do you tire of my company so soon?" he asked, and it was really funny. She was thinking the opposite.
"I thought it was you who got tired."
"No, I just thought you might be needed."
"I'm not needed. They just want to yell at someone," she said bitterly. "It is so quiet here. I can almost believe the world is at peace tonight."
"I rather doubt the world will ever be at peace again." Legolas stated, clearly referring to the seemingly endless army that went against them like the tides of the ocean every day. "We gave him time to plan his revenge. The dark lord has everything arranged now to cover all the lands in darkness."
"We are not defeated yet, Legolas."
"No, we are not." He said, taking her arm and pulling her back to the heart of the garden again. "We must keep faith in each other. The Lady of Lothlórien said there was hope whilst the Company was true. The Company is still true."
"You met her?" Arien stammered. 'Of course he'd meet her, silly. They went into Lothlórien after Moria.'
"Yes," his eyes lit up and Arien found a new wave of rage swelling inside of her because it was her goddamned aunt who made him so, "she's beautiful, Arien. Beautiful as the morning rising clear after a long cold night, or so it seemed to my grievous heart then."
"Hmmm mmm." She replied simply, amusing him to no end. Full of surprises, the little one was, and yet every once in a while he had to restrain from smacking his forehead (it would be extremely un-elfish-like) after she said or did something, from the blatancy of it. Like right then.
Arien found the hand upon her arm was warm and soft, side by side they walked back to the core of the public garden, none talking. Peace was too fragile a thing to be disturbed with trifle chatting.
They both understood it.
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Aragorn watched Minas Tirith and the hell assembled before it. He could blame no one but Sauron, really. Every man (and elf) in the city had fought valiantly against Mordor's army, and against despair.
It only figured the lord of Barad-dûr had plenty of pawns to spare, whilst they had not.
"We cannot pass through, Aragorn." Halbarad said to his cousin, who he had followed like a shadow since their arrival at the white city.
"I know," Aragorn answered. "Although that knowledge does nothing to lessen the uneasiness in my heart. I wish I could do something for Frodo."
Halbarad put a hand upon Aragorn's shoulder, in a rare gesture of affection between men so tough and worn out, understanding his love for the periannath because he too had grown very fond of the little ones.
"All we can do for the hobbit is to make Sauron worry so much about us he does not look into his own land."
Aragorn did not reply because, as much as he loathed it, Halbarad was right. he could not leave Minas Tirith unguarded, even if he had not sworn to Boromir that he would save the city. It was unlikely that they even got close to Mordor, as things stood then.
The hammer's fall had been hard indeed.
"You could do with some rest," Halbarad stated after it was clear his kin wouldn't say a word. Aragorn knew Halbarad would not rest until he did.
"You are right, of course. We'll have a long day ahead of us."
Together they walked back to the city, to find what sleep they could in the Grey Company encampment. Battle would begin again before dawn.
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Denethor covered the Palantír and crawled back to where an armchair was, exhausted.
After he had disclosed the treachery of Thorongil and his allies, he had spent much time alone. Gondor was virtually in the hands of his son anyway, and Faramir sympathised with his rival. So the Steward decided to try and find out whatever intelligence he could from his secret weapon.
The seeing stone.
He had battled the lord of Mordor many hours, and at long last he was defeated. Denethor, not Sauron.
The steward now saw past his presumption and pride, acknowledging the fact that the maia had been leading him like a puppet, and that through him The Nameless One had gathered vital information about Gondor's allies and about Minas Tirith itself.
Because of him, Minas Tirith would fall.
No, the city had been doomed from the beginning.
And yet. If only he had not tried to see Sauron's plans, Sauron wouldn't have seen his, and they'd still have a chance. Wouldn't they?
It no longer mattered. Nothing mattered anymore.
Denethor didn't even bother with a bath or food. There were a few things he needed to do, and his son Faramir was on top of the list. They needed to talk.
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March 20th, early morning.
Selton knew whatever diplomatic advance they managed to achieve was being slowly mined by the circumstances. They were slipping apart, all of them.
Most of the humans understood and appreciated the efforts they were doing to defend the city, however there were some who regarded them with mistrust and resentment. Even when nobody could rationally blame them if Sauron kept sending reinforcements to keep them under siege. It was as if the dark Lord knew all their moves beforehand, and many lives were lost that way, increasing the mortals' restlessness.
But for that same reason, division was growing among the antarians as well. Even though Arien's daring strategies so far had prevented them from a bitter defeat, many began to contest the wisdom of letting a two hundred something lead them into war.
And surprisingly, some of her close friends supported that contestation. Namely Damon, who claimed Arien was being partial and not acting in Antar's best interest. The slytherin said they should sacrifice the human city and focus all their might on saving Antar, leaving the other people to save themselves as they could.
Arien said Antar wouldn't stand a chance if Sauron could concentrate all his attention on them, and had no other enemy. Not to mention their immediate neighbours, the Easterlings, were already Sauron's allies.
Selton himself was rather confused. He felt something lingering underneath his friends' rift but could not know what it was because both kept their minds wide shut now. He considered himself a moderate minded person, and so far he could only be amazed at the might Sauron was unleashing upon Gondor. If that was what the dark lord could do while fighting in many fronts, what couldn't he do when all other lands had fallen?
And it was so obvious Middle Earth was in its autumn. Everywhere he looked, Selton could see only the echoes of a past glory, and the desire to live up to that past. And they were truly amazing, truth to be told. Selton had never dreamed to find so much valour in the hearts of men. But it was all fading. They were fading.
Funny, the mortals thought that they were fading too. But he knew Antar was in the peak of its glory.
With a heavy heart the Gryffindor once again headed for battle, leading his company to the front line of the combat. The renegades would fight with no restraint from then on. There was an unspoken agreement not to stop tonight.
For Antar.
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"Father?" Faramir asked in a whisper. He had not seen Denethor in days, and that greatly bothered him, so a little family approach might not be totally uncalled for. The Valar knew Faramir did not wish to stay in his father's dark side. The steward had locked himself up his quarters and not seen anyone, claiming that they had conspired to get Minas Tirith and could very well handle the trouble on their own.
The youngest son of Denethor was scared. From the dark shadowy corners of the library emerged something that only distantly remembered his proud father, now a broken man. He felt the sting of unshed tears in his eyes, and could not remember when he had last cried.
Maybe when his mother died, but that was really a long time.
"Come here, son." Denethor said, his own voice husky and cracking. His son obliged, and they stood face to face. "This... this will not be easy for me, so I'll make it quick."
The youngest son of Denethor was downright terrified now.
"I am sorry, son." The words left out forcefully, as if the older man was barely containing himself. "I'm sorry for what I told you and I'm sorry for all I've done to you also. It's too late now. It's just too late now. The world of men will be destroyed, and ---"
'Could I do it?' Denethor thought, looking at the expectant face of his youngest offspring, standing before him with warm eyes after all he had done to him, over and over. 'Should I burden him with my faults?'
No. He did not have the right. In the end, the son of Ecthelion II could not fight a lost battle. He had fought, long and hard, but only for as long as he still had hope. Now that all hope was gone, he did not wish to see the end. And he would not stain his son with the knowledge of his errors.
"There is still hope, father." Faramir answered, his voice deep and rich with emotion he finally, at long last, allowed himself to show before his father. It was as if a veil had been lifted and they could, if not speak their minds, but show each other their feelings.
And in the end, Denethor was too much of a coward to destroy that little glimmer he saw in his son's eyes. Despair would come soon enough. 'Let him dream while he may.'
Fate was rather ironic, the steward thought.
"Not for me, I'm afraid." He replied simply. "I will ride with you today."
Faramir knew his father could – expertingly –wield a sword, but had decided not to in case an foul incident took Minas Tirith its leader. Being a very intelligent man, Faramir grasped the meaning instantly, and it left him speechless.
"I'd rather not had offended you now," Denethor continued, and his highly emotional speech cleared off any doubts Faramir might have had. "But I cannot change what was. I can only hope you can forgive me someday."
"I do, father." The young man stated. Both had tears in their eyes.
"You even had the nerve to stand against me when I was wrong. I am so proud of you."
But of course, Denethor would only allow emotion go so far. They were both grown men, after all. "Let's go to battle. I now can hear the horns of the gondorians."
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Legolas clasped his armguards and filled his quiver. It was a hard thing to do, preparing to battle, without his friend Gimli to jest with. And Aragorn was always so busy and troubled. They still met before and after the battle, but when it started, no one could really control where they stood. War had a will of its own.
Not that he could not understand. Aragorn was friends with Gimli also, and many others who had fallen in that war.
It was just that everything was so dark around him. Death, death everywhere. Elves did not know how to cope with that. Of course, the possibility of being slain in battle existed, or having their hearts broken. But the fact that he would never see his mortal friends again was excruciatingly painful.
He had become too fond of them. But really, how could he not? When he and Aragorn became friends, it was almost as if it was destined to be. They understood each other so well. The quiet, passionate young man matured so quickly sometimes Legolas had a tough time remembering Aragorn was no elf. When Boromir first insulted Aragorn at the Council Legolas could have gladly beaten some sense into the man had Aragorn not asked him to leave it be. Well, maybe not really beaten, as he was in mission representing his realm, but that sure had been tempting. During their journey he had learnt to admire and love the gondorian, and Boromir's arguments with Aragorn had became what his and Gimli's had been – a way to exercise their fondness. And yet, Legolas could see time working in the lines that quickly appeared in what was once young skin.
With Pippin in the house of healing – nothing serious, thank Elbereth, and hobbits sure healed extremely fast – Merry being courier to Eomer after Theoden died, Gandalf working to keep the Nazgûl away, Aragorn busy trying to lead his men and keeping himself alive in spite of what clearly seemed to be the Steward's best wishes, and the twins alternating from fighting like mad at Pelennor and working non stop as healers when withdrawal was ordered, he felt rather lonely.
Lonely fighting for the future of Middle earth, with his family apart from him and all his friends busy elsewhere. Of course, being the crowned prince of Mirkwood he understood that duty came first. They all had people who looked up to them as the models of their courage.
"Aragorn," he said when he finally reached his human friend. They always fought side by side, even if they did get lost in the chaos later. "Did you see Elladan and Elrohir?"
"When I last saw them, Elladan was off to court some antarian lady. Elrohir went with him to assure her brothers wouldn't wipe the floor with him." Aragorn said with a smile, clearly finding it absurdly funny that the twins would find some joy in those troubled times.
Legolas sniggered. "Those two. Always in for a bit of trouble, when their father wasn't looking."
"I know you have something for adventure as well, Legolas." Aragorn said, apparently with his foster brothers on this. "I have known you for the better part of sixty years now."
"And you think you can decipher me already, don't you?"
"I can read some signs, Legolas. Men and elves are not so very different in this, "Aragorn said in a rather knowing tone.
"Whatever do you mean by that?" he tried to appear affronted, but his eyes darting to check a certain redheaded peredhil might have destroyed the desired effect.
Not that he was really courting her or something. They were friends. Legolas just did not wish anyone to get the wrong impression.
Aragorn merely laughed. It was good to hear his laugh, and Legolas laughed too, for the mere joy f being with his friend.
A horn blew three times and the gates were opened. The armies within Minas Tirith forced their way into Pelennor and started the old game. None of them saw Denethor riding with Faramir, because none held any kind of outer sign that might give them away to the enemy; and none of them saw when Imrahil of Dol Amroth was slain when opening a path into the battlefield. Both got lost in the task of remaining alive.
Unlike the previous days, there was not returning home at midnight. While the mortals kept coming back every once in a while to rest a couple of hours, the elves did not return to the safety of Minas Tirith's Rings till dusk of the other day.
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March 21st.
At last Damon could see some progress. At last he could see his people showing what stuff they were made of.
He was so proud.
While he parried and blocked and attacked he could not focus on the ever-present feeling of doom he got whenever he saw Arien. They had had diverging opinions before, although, truth be told, not in this scale. But he still loved her dearly, as he knew she loved him, so nothing truly mattered. Damon knew she would understand his position someday.
She had an awfully soft heart, after all.
They had been shielding themselves from each other for a long time, but there was nothing to do about it because he didn't really wish her to see some of the things he had been thinking. He pretended not to notice when she wandered away, when she defended the outsiders. Why on Middle Earth had she to be so damn protective? Couldn't she just give up on those losers and focus on Antar instead? Couldn't she see she was using them to fight a lost battle?
She was so damned stubborn!
That issue would have to be solved. His seventh sense kept alerting him that something was wrong, that he was about to lose something. That feeling alone was slowly driving him mad with dread. If only Damon could know what was wrong!
But as they showed those orcs exactly how tough they were in Antar, all he could focus was on his opponents. The charms worked fine, but they could not save your life if you did not help as well.
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Damon had cornered her right after she reached the safety of the walls. The git did not even had the decency to do it in a quiet, secluded place either. They had argued right there and then – although he did have the decency of speaking antarian. God only knew what the men would do if they knew what the two renegades were talking about.
What started as a row developed into a huge power struggle. She should have known better and watched her back, no matter how much she respected Slytherins and their cunning, there was no denying they were a dangerous lot. But so was she, when inflamed enough.
It had been Selton who was the voice of reason and separated the both of them. Most of her alumni were shocked to discover that their lovely, caring, understanding Headmistress had claws and knew how to use them –and so had Damon. (Why on earth would they be shocked about? She never claimed to be an angel! And she even hinted that she had been in one or two dangerous missions for the Ministry of Magic.) after the confrontation her nerves were so frayed Arien had taken a long time meditating to grasp her wits back.
Thank God for Soothing Serum, and thank Dumbledore for getting her to write journals. The things were extremely therapeutic. Not to mention handy. Only after she put in the paper her row in all the gruesome details, that she remembered Legolas would be dead worry by then, probably thinking she was hurt or killed.
Or, with all the commotion Damon just created, something worse yet – he'd come looking for her.
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She was late.
It had happened before, with all the leading duties that her position held, but now she was late.
Legolas had dropped Aragorn at the house of healing, practically kicking and screaming (Aragorn, not Legolas!), to treat a shoulder wound. When Elladan saw his foster brother and brother-in-law-to-be, all he said was 'healers make the worst patients.' After the Lord of Imladris assured him his friend would survive all right and that Legolas would do better not crowding the healing house, Legolas headed off to the park at the sixth ring and waited.
And waited.
His mind began to fill with images of her lying dead somewhere in the battlefield, or worse. It had happened before, he heard it whispered by the elders a couple of times, what had happened to she-elves when the world was young and uncivilised, and battle was frantic and invaded home. A fate considered worse than death was inflicted upon some of them, and their broken hearts did not beat long after. The prince remembered the commotion that had been when Celebrian was attacked. Elrond and his household had been devastated, and also relentless in their efforts to save the lady. In the end, she did not die, what was an enormous feat in itself, but had to sail to Valinor to recover.
The soft sound of footsteps interrupted his frantic musings, and he jumped down the tree when his friend approached their meeting place. It was an unspoken agreement between them, to meet and distract each other from the engulfing darkness of the world. Sometimes she would discuss war with him, and he had a feeling she had no one else to talk with about it. It was as if she could not show weakness before her people, and that, too, he could understand well. But while Legolas knew he had grown fond of the spirited lady, he had no idea he'd be so frightened at the prospect of losing her. Maybe he was only shaken after losing so many close friends.
"Suilad, hiril nîn." He said softly, trying to discern her state of mind.
"Suilad, hir nîn." She replied. She was dressed in those strange clothes of hers. They were endearing, actually. Combat clothing wasn't exactly complimentary, even less to a lady. But something was amiss.
"Is anything the matter?" Legolas asked, alarmed. They knew each other for a brief span of time, but he knew she was a joyful creature –even if sometimes she got bitter or angry, but that was always a brief outburst.
"No, I just..." she trailed off, "I just had a bad day."
Legolas nodded, it was bound to happen sooner or later. In his experience silent understanding was much better than words, because in the end, there was nothing that he could do about it. It was a crime that all the responsibility should fall into the shoulders of one so young, and he had had to use all his control not to argue with some of the antarians he met in the city, and that because she had asked him not to. The people just had no discipline! No respect! How could they go out talking of their captain like that? It would never happen in Mirkwood. Ever. They respected authority.
And then she surprised him, stepping forth and holding him. There was nothing flirtatious in her embrace, she merely needed the comfort of a friend and that he was glad to offer, specially after all she had put up with from him. It was unexpected, but Legolas had already noticed that antarians had very little pudency about physical contact. They always embraced and kissed and touched when met a friend. Obviously he was considered a friend now.
Right?
Letting his instincts lead him, Legolas held her close, squeezing her back softly, as he knew she needed. That was the closest he ever allowed a female to get to him. As a prince, any advance would bring the necessity of a serious courting – but as he had never felt particularly drawn to any lady, the prince kept his distance.
It did feel rather good, actually.
What if those were Middle Earth's last days? What if Sauron destroyed everything? Soon they would go to Mandos, waiting in the grey halls, at the mercy of the gods, waiting for the possibility of one day returning, forever wandering as a grey shadow. Forever wondering what could have been.
And if not… why not? He was entitled to having a life mate at one point, wasn't he? In the worst days of his life, she had been a shining guiding star. Even if they did not love each other yet, there was a strong connection of friendship, understanding, caring and common interests. Why not indeed?
"Arien, look at me." He whispered, lifting her chin with his fingers. His proposal would be sudden at best, but now that he had, indeed, thought about it, the whole thing seemed to be the most natural course of action possible.
The face that met his gaze was beautiful as all elven faces were, and yet not quite as angelic as elves were supposed to be. There was a hint of earthliness in her features, of humanity in her dark blue eyes. Her personality showed in her strong nose, and most of all in the fire behind her eyes. She had been named well.
When the valië Yavanna used her power to coach a last fruit from the ruined Trees of Valinor, the golden fruit was given to Arien, a maia with such a strong spirit it was said her eyes were like fire, and it was difficult to look into them. The silvery crop was given to Tilion, who would cross the sky after Arien, thus creating the separation between day and night.
The lady before him also had burning eyes.
And while not possessing the kind of flawless beauty that Galadriel, Luthien and Arwen were celebrated for, this lady could hold her ground even in front of those beauties. It was something beyond appearances. She had a flare.
He, Legolas, Crowned Prince of Mirkwood and one of the Nine Walkers, suddenly felt nervous. It wasn't altogether unpleasant, that tingle on his belly; and he wished that his father were there to give him some advice (even if he knew what Thranduil would probably say). At a loss for words, he chose the next best thing, and leaned forth slowly, deliberately, looking straight into her eyes and giving her time to pull back if she did not welcome his advance.
She closed her eyes a fraction of second before their lips met.
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His lips were soft as she knew they would be, softer than a mortal's could. But there was something else – he did not kiss her, strictly speaking. For some time, their lips just touched. Either he was awfully patient (which could very well be true) or he was inexperienced (which also was a valid assumption).
Arien fought very hard the urge to giggle. She'd been lusting over a guy who couldn't kiss! It was actually very touching. She had most definitely not been the first kiss of anyone till now. Oh dear, she should have cornered her mom about the romantic aspects of elven culture. All Aredhel had said was, when you meet your soul mate, you just know it. It's a force of nature, like the river flowing to the sea. It just IS. Arien had never forced the conversation because even her father Glaucus, who was obviously more open about things, turned crimson when she wanted to know what was all that fuss about getting married.
Ah. She was almost sorry to corrupt that master piece of beauty and innocence. Oh sod it. She was thrilled. It had been decades since she last felt attracted to anyone – much less this drawn.
Like a force of nature. Like a river flowing to the sea.
It was her who parted their lips, with an unavoidable smile on her lips. Legolas stared at her so intently it seemed it was the first time a woman ever walked on earth. His eyes held her motionless while his soul spoke to her –whether he was conscious of it or not. He probably wasn't. his eyes were extremely transparent, even when he wore that elven mask of serenity he mastered so well.
It just IS.
She raised a tentative hand to cup his cheek while crossing the distance between them again. It was obviously up to her to lead the kiss, or they'd never get anywhere. Arien gently sucked his bottom lip, running her tongue against the soft skin and delighting in the almost inaudible gasp he made. Maybe it was a bit too much, she contemplated. 'Better take it nice and slow or he'll run away.' Stepping back again, Arien almost gulped at the intense gaze she was receiving.
Unlike mortals she had flirted with on Earth and the renegades that had courted her at Antar, this guy was not after a shag. He was serious. As in really serious.
Being the lady of Aryan had many joys and distresses. One of them was, as she had quickly learned , in spite of their liberal speech (and very much in accordance with the earthling counterparts) antarians had something of a conservative streak when it came to their leaders. The people who were on the spotlights could not fault. It would not do for her to be seen flirting or having affairs as freely as she had when Arien was only a carefree young girl on earth, with no responsibility but herself and her friends. People looked up to her. Mistakes would not be forgiven, not if she wanted to receive the respect she felt was rightfully hers.
Every man would try to win her as if she was a prize (except a selected few who knew better) but once she fell in the trap, she'd be the Mr. X's girl. And that wasn't something she wanted. Arien wanted to be her own person. Besides, she had a long lifetime ahead of her. Arien could give herself the luxury of enjoying the simple joys of life – and the not so simple ones – and establishing her own name while looking for that one guy who would woo her for what she was, not for what he could become by having her.
She was shivering, and Legolas had not even touched her yet.
"In times of peace I would ask your family permission to court you," he said quietly, and her heartbeats got wild. "But in this uncertain times custom says we should act as well as we can. This may seem hasty, but alas! There is no guarantee of what future might bring."
Why ever was he taking such a roundabout to ask her out?
"Arien." The name sounded like a caress coming from him. She could let him win her heart. It would be so easy, falling in love with him. "Would you be my wife? Would you bind yourself to me?"
Wait a bit. Hold it there. Was he asking what she thought he was asking? That was a great deal more than she had asked for.
It was frightening.
It was crazy.
It was exciting.
It was tempting.
He really was serious. Well, that explained why people never heard of elves having affairs. A couple of kisses and the guy was proposing already. Wonder if that has to do with the whole prince thing?
"Do you mean it?" she asked, her brows furrowed in furious reflection. If he was indeed serious, she would not be able to simply go on dating and see if the relationship develops into something worthy of commitment. It would also give her a major headache moving her pawns on the chessboard, but if she moved her pieces right, there was a chance it might work.
And nobody knew exactly how calculating Arien could be when she set her mind to something. She always got what she wanted. Always.
And she wanted Legolas.
And Legolas came to her. Much sooner than she thought he would.
"I would never jest with so serious a matter, milady," Legolas defended himself. Arien waved her hand in the air, trying to dismiss the tension. When had such a perfect event slipped to tense?
"I'm afraid you caught me off guard, Legolas. Forgive me." He smiled slightly, apparently understanding her feelings, and that gave her strength.
"There's nothing to forgive, milady. It is sudden, after all. But I am confident that, should we survive this war, we would be a good match."
Thinking rationally, Arien remembered all those self-help books she read. Pretty much anyone could be great matches if they were willing to work it out.
"Do you think you can love me?" she asked. Arien had no intention of binding herself to a guy who would be forever friends-with-benefits. She'd memory charm him first. And the whole bloody Middle earth population, if needs are.
"I am certain that I can come to love you. I am very fond of you already." Legolas answered truthfully. Good. No insulting her intelligence. Every female who lives in the liberated 21st century knew there were ways to seduce a guy –but it'd make things much easier if he was willing to be seduced. And even if I am very fond of you wasn't the most smashing declaration of love ever, that was beside the point. They had eternity to achieve love (Arien was starting to believe immortality hasn't simply been split in halves and that a peredhil had as long a life as an elf. After all, Elrond was born in the First Age – Elladan and Elrohir did speak a bit of his father when they got some time to talk).
Merlin's beard, she was actually doing it. She'd have to be extremely careful. This was more dangerous even than building Aryan. But Aryan was built, her name was solid, she was an accomplished Auror who could pull off of any hook. The dormant impulsive flare in her came back to life.
The look in his eyes told him all she wanted to know. There was time to be cautious, and there was time to take risks. Her hand rose again to his face, caressing his cheeks.
"I do not know how these things are done."
Legolas nodded his understanding. Her parents were dead, and she had been too young to be taught the ways of marriage. They had spoken at length about their lives at their homelands, and their total dedication to career was a common trait.
"In perilous times, we can be wed without a public celebration, or with only the closest friends. We will say our vows and bind ourselves to one another with the Valar as our witnesses."
Arien bit her lip. No witnesses, for the while at least. They'd complicate everything. She needed time to arrange things to her convenience.
Notice he said nothing about the nuptial night.
"I will bind myself to you," she spoke slowly, seeking his eyes to see his reaction. His eyes were warm. "If you tell me how."
Legolas smiled openly.
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Quenya (I got this from a safe resource!) Translations.
"Umin hanyalyë..." I don't understand you
"Man Úhanyanelye?" what do you not understand?
Author notes.
Do you think I should have separated the fluffy part from the rest? Oh cruel doubt!
Let me know what you think of it! See ya soon!
The stuff about elven sex and wedding is OFFICIAL – I debated long about how to make it but in the end decided to go this way. You can find more details at the hilarious (and, surprisingly very serious) cross over reference essay What Tolkien Officially Said About Elf Sex.
"The union of love is indeed to them great delight and joy." (LACE)
"All the Eldar had beautiful hair (and were especially attracted by hair of exceptional loveliness)." (The Shibboleth of Fëanor, The Peoples of Middle-Earth, HME)
Imladris homepage where I found many enlightening bits of information (you can't very well go read all those tomes when you need to have a question answered, now can you?)
Morgoth's Ring, 4th paragraph, page 211
But these ceremonies were not rites necessary to marriage; they were only a gracious mode by which the love of the parents was manifested, and the union was recognized which would join not only the betrothed but their two houses together. It was the act of bodily union that achieved marriage, and after which the indissoluble bond was complete. In happy days and times of peace it was held ungracious and contemptuous of kin to forgo the ceremonies, but it was at all times lawful for any of the Eldar, both being unwed, to marry thus of free consent one to another without ceremony or witness (save blessings exchanged and the naming of the Name); and the union so joined was alike indissoluble. In days of old, in times of trouble, in flight and exile and wandering, such marriages were often made.
(bold letters are mine, not Tolkien's)
Morgoth's Ring: The Later Silmarillion Part One, Volume 10 of The History of Middle Earth, J.R.R. Tolkien, edited by Christopher Tolkien. Houghton Mifflin Co, 1993.
Source for: "Laws and Customs of the Eldar" (LACE).