Disclaimer: Guess? Oh yeah, not mine. How did you know? :O
Author notes: If you readers are still there...wow, thank you @_@
Thank you, as well, to every single reviewer! Your words inspire me, and make me really look into what I've written so far, so I can give sense to this story.
English is my second language so I apologize for any grammar or spelling mistakes made on this story, Elvish is out on the way I believe it to be, most likely with thousand mistakes on it. Quotes are taken from the book, and in this particular chapter I was forced to add a lot of Tolkien, to explain the situations he created, but of course, my writing is still between some of his.
Short Chapter Warning! ;)
Master in Deceiving
By Yours Truly
Gandalf departed the company after a few nights, moving swiftly with Shadowfax ahead of the large group of armed men. After days of endless riding, the Riders were still in the low valley before the mouth of the Coomb, when cries and hornblasts were heard from their scouts that went in front. Out of the darkness arrows whistled. Swiftly a scout rode back towards them.
The scout had been overjoyed when he had seen the King of the Mark marching towards the battlefield, but still his news had been grim. Enemies were spreading everywhere, and Helm seemed to be extremely close to a massive attack. Legolas felt the weight of every waking day on his shoulders, every moment, the temptation of giving up control was stronger…yet he showed no signs of weariness as he focused keen eyes ahead and attempted to see what he knew was there. He had seen it but once before, and though far from his own land, he had learned enough of these fields while dwelling in Rivendell:
At Helm's Gate, before the mouth of the Deep, there was a heel of rock thrust outward by the northern cliff. There upon its spur stood high walls of ancient stone, and within them was a lofty tower. The Hornburg it was called, for a trumpet sounded upon the tower echoed in the Deep behind, as if armies long-forgotten were issuing to war from caves beneath the hills. There in the Hornburg at Helm's Gate Erkenbrand, master of Westfold on the borders of the Mark, now dwelt. As the days darkened with threat of war, being wise, he had repaired the wall and made the fastness strong.
That was what Legolas knew. Luckily for him, all was correct.
"Then let us be swift," Éomer was saying when Legolas focused back on the present. "Let us drive through such foes as are already between us and the fastness. There are caves in Helm's Deep where hundreds may lie hid; and secret ways lead thence up on to the hills."
"Trust not to secret ways," said the king. "Saruman has long spied out this land. Still in that place our defense may last long. Let us go!"
Aragorn and Legolas went now with Éomer in the van. The proud ranger, whose gaze seemed fearless and strong, was concerned of so much at once, than a lesser human would have been driven to insanity. His land, his future, his best friend…
{Look what you have done to Estel}
{I have seen…}
{You are murdering him, slowly…}
{I do not…}
{You torture him}
On through the dark night they rode, ever slower as the darkness deepened and their way climbed southward, higher and higher into the dim folds about the mountains' feet. They found few of the enemy before them. Here and there they came upon roving bands of Orcs; but they fled ere the Riders could take or slay them.
{And none of them touched me}
{You wish them to}
{Aye}
{You wish to leave the land}
{Aye}
{You wish to leave the light}
{Aye}
{Do you wish then, to accept my help, little Prince?}
{If I knew who you were…with my voice you speak…yet 'tis not me}
{You shall know}
"It will not be long I fear," said Éomer, "'ere the coming of the king's host will be known to the leader of our enemies, Saruman or whatever captain he has sent forth."
The rumour of war grew behind them. Now they could hear, borne over the dark, the sound of harsh singing.
{My doom awaits me…}
There was neither star nor moon when the Riders came to the breach in the Dike of Helm, where the stream from above passed out, and the road beside it ran down from the Hornburg. The rampart loomed suddenly before them, a high shadow beyond a dark pit. As they rode up a sentinel challenged them.
"The Lord of the Mark rides to Helm's Gate," Éomer answered. "I, Éomer son of Éomund, speak."
{Battle…war…}
"This is good tidings beyond hope," said the sentinel. "Hasten! The enemy is on your heels."
{I can feel them, they carry death, and they carry destruction…}
{Do you truly wish to leave this life?}
{Aye, I do}
{Then you shall, princeling}
{How so? By whom?}
{Feel the war, young Prince of Mirkwood, feel the destruction}
{I feel the shadow}
{That is right. You feel your fate}
{What do you speak of?}
The king and his Riders passed on. Before the causeway that crossed the stream they dismounted. In a long file they led their horses up the ramp and passed within the gates of the Hornburg. There they were welcomed again with joy and renewed hope; for now there were men enough to man both the burg and the barrier wall. Relief could be felt on the very air they breathed; yet all of the soldiers knew it was not a time for celebration. Orcs came by thousands and with their arrival the future of the very land would be decided, battle after battle, until the war's end.
Quickly Éomer set his men in readiness. The king and the men of his household were in the Hornburg, and there also were many of the Westfold-men. But on the Deeping Wall and its tower, and behind it, Éomer arrayed most of the strength that he had, for here the defense seemed more doubtful, if the assault were in great force. The horses were led far up the Deep under such guard as could be spared. Legolas reassured his mount gently, before walking away. He sat above on a parapet, fingering his bow, and peering out into the gloom in silent thought. After some time, he looked up to the approaching sound of heavy steps.
Gimli had followed the silent elf as he gracefully moved between the men reading for battle. He had been struggling to catch up with Legolas, when he had been delayed by a few short words with Éomer; after which, the dwarf had lost sight of his friend. Wandering in the general direction the elf had been heading, he almost gave up. But when he looked up to the castle, he could see a silent figure sitting on a parapet of the rock structure. No man of Rohan that he knew possessed the dim golden glow of an elf. That was Legolas.
His sturdy legs carried him to where the silent figure sat, and twin pools of blue were turned in his direction when he emerged upstairs. Legolas nodded to him, to then stare towards the distance once more. Standing below the parapet, the dwarf maintained the companionable silence for a few minutes, staring ahead as Legolas did. The sight was not a beautiful one. Darkness, and fire in the distance, men reading for battle underneath them…Gimli could feel the battle approaching, and he could not say that he wanted to wait for it. The threat was growing stronger by the minute, and it was about time they start fighting it!
Finally tiring of the silence, as was his custom, the dwarf spoke his mind "This is more to my liking," said he, stamping on the stones. "Ever my heart rises as we draw near the mountains. There is good rock here. This country has tough bones. I felt them in my feet as we came up from the dike. Give me a year and a hundred of my kin and I would make this a place that armies would break upon like water."
{Give me one year… and there would not be a life left on this place}
{There are no more years for you}
As if considering his words, the elf paused, and finally without turning to face his friend, he spoke softly
"I do not doubt it," answered Legolas. "But you are a dwarf, and dwarves are strange folk; I do not like this place, and I shall like it no more by the light of day. But you comfort me, Gimli, and I am glad to have you standing nigh with your stout legs and your hard axe. I wish there were more of your kin among us. But even more would I give for a hundred good archers of Mirkwood. We shall need them. The Rohirrim have good bowmen after their fashion, but there are too few here, too few."
{Is that true, princeling?}
{What is?}
{A hundred good archers of Mirkwood?}
{Aye…they could kill these foul orcs in the blink of an eye}
{Leaving you where?}
{Falling down endless walls of stone…'pushed' by some orc off this place, sent to my death}
{And after that you would face elven heroes in the halls of Mandos, little one, how would you do that? How to inform to the holy Valar of your failure…you would be seen unworthy, you would be sent back…as a silent shadow…less than even the ghost of the past}
{There is no hope for me then}
{There might be one; little one…there might be one}
{What do you speak of?}
{Better focus on what Gimli speaks of, now…}
{Nay, what are these words, and who voices them?}
{You shall know}
"It is dark for archery," the dwarf was saying, having noticed in silence how the elven voice dripped with exhaustion…as if having faced a war that no other knew of. Thinking fast, his next words were planned.
Rest would do his friend good…or a good battle as any warrior needed. Any choice would have to chase the shadow away from the blue orbs of the elf.
"Indeed it is time for sleep. Sleep! I feel the need of it, as never I thought any dwarf could. Riding is tiring work. Yet my axe is restless in my hand. Give me a row of orc-necks and room to swing and all weariness will fall from me!"
No answer came, and Gimli sighed to himself. Opening his mouth to speak once more, the dwarf never got the chance. For it was then that suddenly from the Dike yells and screams, and the fierce battle-cries of men broke out.
War had reached them, and there was no more time for words.
To be continued…
Author notes: If you readers are still there...wow, thank you @_@
Thank you, as well, to every single reviewer! Your words inspire me, and make me really look into what I've written so far, so I can give sense to this story.
English is my second language so I apologize for any grammar or spelling mistakes made on this story, Elvish is out on the way I believe it to be, most likely with thousand mistakes on it. Quotes are taken from the book, and in this particular chapter I was forced to add a lot of Tolkien, to explain the situations he created, but of course, my writing is still between some of his.
Short Chapter Warning! ;)
Master in Deceiving
By Yours Truly
Gandalf departed the company after a few nights, moving swiftly with Shadowfax ahead of the large group of armed men. After days of endless riding, the Riders were still in the low valley before the mouth of the Coomb, when cries and hornblasts were heard from their scouts that went in front. Out of the darkness arrows whistled. Swiftly a scout rode back towards them.
The scout had been overjoyed when he had seen the King of the Mark marching towards the battlefield, but still his news had been grim. Enemies were spreading everywhere, and Helm seemed to be extremely close to a massive attack. Legolas felt the weight of every waking day on his shoulders, every moment, the temptation of giving up control was stronger…yet he showed no signs of weariness as he focused keen eyes ahead and attempted to see what he knew was there. He had seen it but once before, and though far from his own land, he had learned enough of these fields while dwelling in Rivendell:
At Helm's Gate, before the mouth of the Deep, there was a heel of rock thrust outward by the northern cliff. There upon its spur stood high walls of ancient stone, and within them was a lofty tower. The Hornburg it was called, for a trumpet sounded upon the tower echoed in the Deep behind, as if armies long-forgotten were issuing to war from caves beneath the hills. There in the Hornburg at Helm's Gate Erkenbrand, master of Westfold on the borders of the Mark, now dwelt. As the days darkened with threat of war, being wise, he had repaired the wall and made the fastness strong.
That was what Legolas knew. Luckily for him, all was correct.
"Then let us be swift," Éomer was saying when Legolas focused back on the present. "Let us drive through such foes as are already between us and the fastness. There are caves in Helm's Deep where hundreds may lie hid; and secret ways lead thence up on to the hills."
"Trust not to secret ways," said the king. "Saruman has long spied out this land. Still in that place our defense may last long. Let us go!"
Aragorn and Legolas went now with Éomer in the van. The proud ranger, whose gaze seemed fearless and strong, was concerned of so much at once, than a lesser human would have been driven to insanity. His land, his future, his best friend…
{Look what you have done to Estel}
{I have seen…}
{You are murdering him, slowly…}
{I do not…}
{You torture him}
On through the dark night they rode, ever slower as the darkness deepened and their way climbed southward, higher and higher into the dim folds about the mountains' feet. They found few of the enemy before them. Here and there they came upon roving bands of Orcs; but they fled ere the Riders could take or slay them.
{And none of them touched me}
{You wish them to}
{Aye}
{You wish to leave the land}
{Aye}
{You wish to leave the light}
{Aye}
{Do you wish then, to accept my help, little Prince?}
{If I knew who you were…with my voice you speak…yet 'tis not me}
{You shall know}
"It will not be long I fear," said Éomer, "'ere the coming of the king's host will be known to the leader of our enemies, Saruman or whatever captain he has sent forth."
The rumour of war grew behind them. Now they could hear, borne over the dark, the sound of harsh singing.
{My doom awaits me…}
There was neither star nor moon when the Riders came to the breach in the Dike of Helm, where the stream from above passed out, and the road beside it ran down from the Hornburg. The rampart loomed suddenly before them, a high shadow beyond a dark pit. As they rode up a sentinel challenged them.
"The Lord of the Mark rides to Helm's Gate," Éomer answered. "I, Éomer son of Éomund, speak."
{Battle…war…}
"This is good tidings beyond hope," said the sentinel. "Hasten! The enemy is on your heels."
{I can feel them, they carry death, and they carry destruction…}
{Do you truly wish to leave this life?}
{Aye, I do}
{Then you shall, princeling}
{How so? By whom?}
{Feel the war, young Prince of Mirkwood, feel the destruction}
{I feel the shadow}
{That is right. You feel your fate}
{What do you speak of?}
The king and his Riders passed on. Before the causeway that crossed the stream they dismounted. In a long file they led their horses up the ramp and passed within the gates of the Hornburg. There they were welcomed again with joy and renewed hope; for now there were men enough to man both the burg and the barrier wall. Relief could be felt on the very air they breathed; yet all of the soldiers knew it was not a time for celebration. Orcs came by thousands and with their arrival the future of the very land would be decided, battle after battle, until the war's end.
Quickly Éomer set his men in readiness. The king and the men of his household were in the Hornburg, and there also were many of the Westfold-men. But on the Deeping Wall and its tower, and behind it, Éomer arrayed most of the strength that he had, for here the defense seemed more doubtful, if the assault were in great force. The horses were led far up the Deep under such guard as could be spared. Legolas reassured his mount gently, before walking away. He sat above on a parapet, fingering his bow, and peering out into the gloom in silent thought. After some time, he looked up to the approaching sound of heavy steps.
Gimli had followed the silent elf as he gracefully moved between the men reading for battle. He had been struggling to catch up with Legolas, when he had been delayed by a few short words with Éomer; after which, the dwarf had lost sight of his friend. Wandering in the general direction the elf had been heading, he almost gave up. But when he looked up to the castle, he could see a silent figure sitting on a parapet of the rock structure. No man of Rohan that he knew possessed the dim golden glow of an elf. That was Legolas.
His sturdy legs carried him to where the silent figure sat, and twin pools of blue were turned in his direction when he emerged upstairs. Legolas nodded to him, to then stare towards the distance once more. Standing below the parapet, the dwarf maintained the companionable silence for a few minutes, staring ahead as Legolas did. The sight was not a beautiful one. Darkness, and fire in the distance, men reading for battle underneath them…Gimli could feel the battle approaching, and he could not say that he wanted to wait for it. The threat was growing stronger by the minute, and it was about time they start fighting it!
Finally tiring of the silence, as was his custom, the dwarf spoke his mind "This is more to my liking," said he, stamping on the stones. "Ever my heart rises as we draw near the mountains. There is good rock here. This country has tough bones. I felt them in my feet as we came up from the dike. Give me a year and a hundred of my kin and I would make this a place that armies would break upon like water."
{Give me one year… and there would not be a life left on this place}
{There are no more years for you}
As if considering his words, the elf paused, and finally without turning to face his friend, he spoke softly
"I do not doubt it," answered Legolas. "But you are a dwarf, and dwarves are strange folk; I do not like this place, and I shall like it no more by the light of day. But you comfort me, Gimli, and I am glad to have you standing nigh with your stout legs and your hard axe. I wish there were more of your kin among us. But even more would I give for a hundred good archers of Mirkwood. We shall need them. The Rohirrim have good bowmen after their fashion, but there are too few here, too few."
{Is that true, princeling?}
{What is?}
{A hundred good archers of Mirkwood?}
{Aye…they could kill these foul orcs in the blink of an eye}
{Leaving you where?}
{Falling down endless walls of stone…'pushed' by some orc off this place, sent to my death}
{And after that you would face elven heroes in the halls of Mandos, little one, how would you do that? How to inform to the holy Valar of your failure…you would be seen unworthy, you would be sent back…as a silent shadow…less than even the ghost of the past}
{There is no hope for me then}
{There might be one; little one…there might be one}
{What do you speak of?}
{Better focus on what Gimli speaks of, now…}
{Nay, what are these words, and who voices them?}
{You shall know}
"It is dark for archery," the dwarf was saying, having noticed in silence how the elven voice dripped with exhaustion…as if having faced a war that no other knew of. Thinking fast, his next words were planned.
Rest would do his friend good…or a good battle as any warrior needed. Any choice would have to chase the shadow away from the blue orbs of the elf.
"Indeed it is time for sleep. Sleep! I feel the need of it, as never I thought any dwarf could. Riding is tiring work. Yet my axe is restless in my hand. Give me a row of orc-necks and room to swing and all weariness will fall from me!"
No answer came, and Gimli sighed to himself. Opening his mouth to speak once more, the dwarf never got the chance. For it was then that suddenly from the Dike yells and screams, and the fierce battle-cries of men broke out.
War had reached them, and there was no more time for words.
To be continued…