Disclaimer: I was not alive when this book was first published…do you think it's mine then? *Grins*
Author notes: I love to hear from you, so please R&R. Special thank to all of those kind souls who have reviewed so far. Believe me, at the end of this story; you will get personal thanks ;)
My first personal thanks of the whole story, however, goes for Kaeva, who was wonderful enough to lift my ego to the heavens!
English is my second language so I apologize for any grammar or spelling mistakes made in here. Quotes are taken from the book and elvish is the way I believe it to be, most likely mistaken.
The very awaited (by me) chapter: Helms Deep!!! *Dances around* Part 1 of Helms Deep ;)
Master in Deceiving
By Yours Truly
Thunder rolled in the valley. Rain came lashing down. Arrows thick as the rain came whistling over the battlements, and fell clinking and glancing on the stones. Some found a mark. The assault on Helm's Deep had begun, but no sound or challenge was heard within; no answering arrows came.
The assailing hosts halted, foiled by the silent menace of rock and wall.
{At last…}
{You shall not die}
But soon, perhaps too soon, they moved forward, some against the Deeping Wall, other towards the causeway and the ramp that led up to the Hornburg-gates.
{How do you say such things?}
{You shall not die}
{Stop…}
{You. Shall. Not. Die}
{Please…nay…you said I should}
There the hugest Orcs were mustered, and the wild men of the Dunland fells. A moment they hesitated and then on they came. A black cloud of death that froze the hearts of the men that looked out to see it come.
Time for battle had arrived.
{It was told to you, that you would leave the land, leave the light, and leave this…existence}
{I must die}
{And face the Valar, how? And spend the rest of your days as something lesser than a ghost…like you scarcely deserve?}
{Nay…I cannot remain…}
The broods of shadow came easily, advancing like ants towards food. They reached the summit of the rock; they drove towards the gates.
{Nay, you cannot} The voice was serene; mocking…cold…it was his voice…
{Why…} Nothing more than a mere whisper of despair, the echo of too many battles against enemies that were quickly gaining strength…so much strength…
{Tell me Princeling, do you live?}
Legolas jumped off the parapet on which he was sitting, and faster than any mortal eye could follow, his bow was on his hand, and an arrow securely notched on his hand. Automatic movements then took careful aim as the elf barely sensed Gimli gripping his axe, and muttering on his own tongue, words that dripped with thirst for battle.
{Nay, not any longer, not for a long time…yet neither am I dead…I seem to have long ago become that shadow of the past you speak about}
{Do you suffer? Like you deserve?}
{Not nearly as I deserve}
{How shall you die then? Thee that live, yet claims to die, thee that suffers, yet cries that it will never be enough. You know naught of suffering, little one, nothing! And you shall…you shall know its every syllable, and you shall suffer its every torment…Only then, young one, perhaps only then…you can die}
Legolas' arrow flew though the night, through the rain and through the field; before the lightening had ceased, it had slain a foul creature by piercing its throat. It was the first of a storm of arrows, and a hail of stones that met the orcs in a sudden flash. They wavered, broke, and fled back; and then charged again, broke and charged again; and each time, like the incoming sea, they halted at a higher point. It was a terrifying sight.
Yet the pale hand never wavered, always hitting the intended target, always causing the death of the corrupted soul that those hideous creatures hid inside.
{Are you better than them?}
They were assaulting the doors, the corpse of a tree between foul limbs that they used as hands. The screams of the nature around this place were deafening, the cries of death, the screams for blood. The agony of the dying, the thirst of the warriors, the very drowning air that smelled of death…
It was so much…
It was so…
{Perfect}
Dead eyes regarded the scene and a small grin grazed dry lips. It made the ethereal-being look feral. Had he not been observing ahead, he might have noticed that Gimli could barely recognize him.
There was no time for words.
Below at the Deeping Wall, Éomer and Aragorn stood, waiting, and Legolas could see them. He could see everything. Normally keen senses seemed to have multiplied their ability, seemed to overwhelm him in the midst of the blood shed that went on as arrows flew. Legolas saw them, heard them, and observed in silence as they ran together and as the men that followed them were engulfed in war. The thirst grew…his eyes looked for more; his voice whispered the lines of ancient elvish tales of great battles.
This was a men's war.
He did not even fit on this scene.
And the familiarity of this feeling made him laugh to himself. When the dwarf uttered his name in surprise, the thunder swallowed it, and Legolas never heard it. He never heard the retreat of the stout figure either, never cared to notice, as he killed a foul creature after another, murdering the ones that were breaking the door, the one that were most likely to kill Aragorn, to kill Éomer…the ones that he now knew could not kill him.
{You shall not die, yet you shall murder them all, Princeling}
{Nay…not this time. I shall save them}
{Now you are strong? This is you, now? This orc with an elven façade?}
{Admire your handiwork…}
{'Tis your own fault, little one…weak one}
{Weak how?! Tell me now! Weak how, if I can kill the shadow?!}
{Can you?}
{Do you not see me?}
{I see an archer's body; I see a warrior's movements. Yet…that is not you}
{How can it not be…how?}
{You, little one…are here…with Me. You have been for a long time}
{Help me…}
{I shall, little Prince…I shall very soon…}
Startled, he shot another arrow, killed another one, even as his view was focused on Éomer's fall, as orcs launched on the human.
'Nay! Éomer hûl*!' He cried loudly. A breath later another voice rang out.
''Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!'' An axe swung and swept back. Two Orcs fell headless. The rest fled. Éomer was safe and Legolas sighed a sigh of relief, short lived as he was forced to murder another orc that seemed to aim for Aragorn. The black creature fell before the dark arrow could be aimed.
{Without Gimli…}
{I know}
{Another would have fallen}
{I saw}
{And you did nothing. You call yourself strong? Worthy?}
{Never}
A feverish glint entered dead eyes that suddenly seemed to glow beneath the rain. Another arrow was aimed, and the final arrow of his lot went through an enemy's skull. The orc fell without a noise uttered.
{It is over…over…I must breath…}
{Never over, princeling}
{They've locked the door, the orcs are outside, and my arrows are spent…}
{Unworthy…coward… weak…}
{When shall you help me…}
{There is more battle to come, is there not, little one? Wait for it, for aid shall come, I shall aid you}
Quick steps took the dwarf towards the wall he had left before. Where he had seen a side of the elf that never before had he witnessed…that he did not thought existed…looking back of it, Gimli did not think it existed within the elf. It had seemed…evil.
His friend was staring ahead when he reached his place, and the calm he radiated, as if waiting for something to happen, was a stark contrast to the barely maintained sanity he had displayed earlier.
"Two!" said Gimli, patting his axe.
"Two?" asked Legolas softly, before turning in his direction. "I have done better, though now I must grope for spent arrows; all mine are gone. Yet I make my tale twenty at the least. But that is only a few leaves in a forest."
A pause, silence between them…
Then, the assault on the gates was redoubled. Against the Deeping Wall the hosts of Isengard roared like a sea. Orcs and hillmen swarmed about its feet from end to end. Ropes with grappling hooks were hurled over the parapet faster than men could cut them or fling them back.
{Battle is far from over, little one}
The men of Rohan grew weary. All their arrows were spent, and every shaft was shot; their swords were notched, and their shields were riven. Three times Aragorn and Éomer rallied them; and three times Andúril flamed in a desperate charge that drove the enemy from the wall. Legolas could see it all, the black hordes attempting entrances, and he soon heard the Black Speech floating through the whole fort. It sounded like the orcs were just arriving…like they were…
'Na Elbereth…' (By Elbereth) he whispered with a cry of dismay.
In the Deep behind Orcs had crept like rats through the culvert through which the stream flowed out. There they had gathered in the shadow of the cliffs, until the assault above was hottest. Then they sprang out. Already some had passed into the jaws of the Deep and were among the horses, fighting with the guards.
Gimli leapt with a fierce cry that echoed in the cliffs. 'Khazâd! Khazâd!' He soon had work enough.
"Ai-oi!" the dwarf shouted. "The Orcs are behind the wall. Ai-oi! Come, Legolas! There are enough for us both. Khazâd ai-mênu"
'An agarwaen cuil!' (For bloodstained life!) Legolas screamed as he went forward, and nobody took notice of another battle cry amongst so many. Aragorn, below, heard these words, and paused in battle for a mere second, before the orc on front of him almost made him pay for it. Then he could no longer think of the words he knew, had been screamed by his elven friend. Legolas went to follow Gimli, but was soon detained on his way, and the dwarf went ahead of him.
Gamling the Old, important man at the fort of Helm, looked down from the Hornburg, hearing the great voice of the dwarf above all the tumult. "The Orcs are in the Deep!" he cried. "Helm! Helm! Forth Helmingas." He shouted as he leaped down the stair from the Rock with many men of Westfold at his back.
Legolas saw this out of the corner of his eye. He had faced one foolish orc that had been going for the wall, and was now collecting a few precious arrows from wherever he could. He lost sight of his friend, and having descended a few steps, could not see Aragorn or Éomer. Only darkness, creatures of Isengard, and unknown men…
Not that he felt any more alone than he did when surrounded by friends.
Going back up worried over his comrades he peered out to the gloom below. "Legolas!" a familiar voice cried, and he recognized it as Aragorn's. "Be wary! Orcs are going up!"
In one swift motion his elven knives were pulled out of their sheaths, even as he heard for himself the sound of heavy feet. Soon, a group of some five orcs appeared, and he was ready for them. Knives flashing, one of them lost its head, and another its right arm. He saw Aragorn come to his aid with Éomer not far behind.
{They are here to make sure you do not slaughter them all}
{I am a warrior…}
{Show them…show them, princeling}
In a deathly dance of lightening speed, Legolas killed the orc that had lost its arm, as well as another that lunged at him. Stab, blood, a scream, and such a feel of satisfaction…
There were two left. Legolas moved fast, and in the blink of an eye, he buried his knife deep into the gut of the orc fighting with Aragorn. Éomer beheaded another in the corner of his eye.
He had killed four out of five.
Aragorn gazed at him in silence, as if seeing something new in him, but Legolas paid him no mind, as he turned away and cleaned his knife off the gore of battle. He felt satisfied. He never had felt it before in battle…it felt good…
Gimli climbed up and found Legolas beside Aragorn and Éomer. The elf was whetting his long knife. "Twenty-one!" said Gimli.
"Good!" Legolas answered. "But my count is now two dozen. It has been knife-work up here."
And it felt so good to say that…
Aragorn stared in silence; Éomer frowned to himself at a strange note he had caught in the musical voice of the blond archer. Gimli looked at Legolas, attempting to discover what was bringing this strange behavior from his friend…but Legolas did not even glance at them. He, instead, glanced at the battlefield below.
"This is a night as long as years," he heard the ranger say. And he smiled to himself.
{This night has lasted for years, already}
"'How long will the day tarry?'"
{Never will it come again, Princeling. Did you know that? Tell me, little one…do you feel it?}
A whimper was swallowed by the night, by the battle, by the conversation between Aragorn and Gamling…
{Aye…I fear so}
To be continued.
*hûl: Elvish cry of encouragement in battle means something close to "strength!"
Author notes: I love to hear from you, so please R&R. Special thank to all of those kind souls who have reviewed so far. Believe me, at the end of this story; you will get personal thanks ;)
My first personal thanks of the whole story, however, goes for Kaeva, who was wonderful enough to lift my ego to the heavens!
English is my second language so I apologize for any grammar or spelling mistakes made in here. Quotes are taken from the book and elvish is the way I believe it to be, most likely mistaken.
The very awaited (by me) chapter: Helms Deep!!! *Dances around* Part 1 of Helms Deep ;)
Master in Deceiving
By Yours Truly
Thunder rolled in the valley. Rain came lashing down. Arrows thick as the rain came whistling over the battlements, and fell clinking and glancing on the stones. Some found a mark. The assault on Helm's Deep had begun, but no sound or challenge was heard within; no answering arrows came.
The assailing hosts halted, foiled by the silent menace of rock and wall.
{At last…}
{You shall not die}
But soon, perhaps too soon, they moved forward, some against the Deeping Wall, other towards the causeway and the ramp that led up to the Hornburg-gates.
{How do you say such things?}
{You shall not die}
{Stop…}
{You. Shall. Not. Die}
{Please…nay…you said I should}
There the hugest Orcs were mustered, and the wild men of the Dunland fells. A moment they hesitated and then on they came. A black cloud of death that froze the hearts of the men that looked out to see it come.
Time for battle had arrived.
{It was told to you, that you would leave the land, leave the light, and leave this…existence}
{I must die}
{And face the Valar, how? And spend the rest of your days as something lesser than a ghost…like you scarcely deserve?}
{Nay…I cannot remain…}
The broods of shadow came easily, advancing like ants towards food. They reached the summit of the rock; they drove towards the gates.
{Nay, you cannot} The voice was serene; mocking…cold…it was his voice…
{Why…} Nothing more than a mere whisper of despair, the echo of too many battles against enemies that were quickly gaining strength…so much strength…
{Tell me Princeling, do you live?}
Legolas jumped off the parapet on which he was sitting, and faster than any mortal eye could follow, his bow was on his hand, and an arrow securely notched on his hand. Automatic movements then took careful aim as the elf barely sensed Gimli gripping his axe, and muttering on his own tongue, words that dripped with thirst for battle.
{Nay, not any longer, not for a long time…yet neither am I dead…I seem to have long ago become that shadow of the past you speak about}
{Do you suffer? Like you deserve?}
{Not nearly as I deserve}
{How shall you die then? Thee that live, yet claims to die, thee that suffers, yet cries that it will never be enough. You know naught of suffering, little one, nothing! And you shall…you shall know its every syllable, and you shall suffer its every torment…Only then, young one, perhaps only then…you can die}
Legolas' arrow flew though the night, through the rain and through the field; before the lightening had ceased, it had slain a foul creature by piercing its throat. It was the first of a storm of arrows, and a hail of stones that met the orcs in a sudden flash. They wavered, broke, and fled back; and then charged again, broke and charged again; and each time, like the incoming sea, they halted at a higher point. It was a terrifying sight.
Yet the pale hand never wavered, always hitting the intended target, always causing the death of the corrupted soul that those hideous creatures hid inside.
{Are you better than them?}
They were assaulting the doors, the corpse of a tree between foul limbs that they used as hands. The screams of the nature around this place were deafening, the cries of death, the screams for blood. The agony of the dying, the thirst of the warriors, the very drowning air that smelled of death…
It was so much…
It was so…
{Perfect}
Dead eyes regarded the scene and a small grin grazed dry lips. It made the ethereal-being look feral. Had he not been observing ahead, he might have noticed that Gimli could barely recognize him.
There was no time for words.
Below at the Deeping Wall, Éomer and Aragorn stood, waiting, and Legolas could see them. He could see everything. Normally keen senses seemed to have multiplied their ability, seemed to overwhelm him in the midst of the blood shed that went on as arrows flew. Legolas saw them, heard them, and observed in silence as they ran together and as the men that followed them were engulfed in war. The thirst grew…his eyes looked for more; his voice whispered the lines of ancient elvish tales of great battles.
This was a men's war.
He did not even fit on this scene.
And the familiarity of this feeling made him laugh to himself. When the dwarf uttered his name in surprise, the thunder swallowed it, and Legolas never heard it. He never heard the retreat of the stout figure either, never cared to notice, as he killed a foul creature after another, murdering the ones that were breaking the door, the one that were most likely to kill Aragorn, to kill Éomer…the ones that he now knew could not kill him.
{You shall not die, yet you shall murder them all, Princeling}
{Nay…not this time. I shall save them}
{Now you are strong? This is you, now? This orc with an elven façade?}
{Admire your handiwork…}
{'Tis your own fault, little one…weak one}
{Weak how?! Tell me now! Weak how, if I can kill the shadow?!}
{Can you?}
{Do you not see me?}
{I see an archer's body; I see a warrior's movements. Yet…that is not you}
{How can it not be…how?}
{You, little one…are here…with Me. You have been for a long time}
{Help me…}
{I shall, little Prince…I shall very soon…}
Startled, he shot another arrow, killed another one, even as his view was focused on Éomer's fall, as orcs launched on the human.
'Nay! Éomer hûl*!' He cried loudly. A breath later another voice rang out.
''Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!'' An axe swung and swept back. Two Orcs fell headless. The rest fled. Éomer was safe and Legolas sighed a sigh of relief, short lived as he was forced to murder another orc that seemed to aim for Aragorn. The black creature fell before the dark arrow could be aimed.
{Without Gimli…}
{I know}
{Another would have fallen}
{I saw}
{And you did nothing. You call yourself strong? Worthy?}
{Never}
A feverish glint entered dead eyes that suddenly seemed to glow beneath the rain. Another arrow was aimed, and the final arrow of his lot went through an enemy's skull. The orc fell without a noise uttered.
{It is over…over…I must breath…}
{Never over, princeling}
{They've locked the door, the orcs are outside, and my arrows are spent…}
{Unworthy…coward… weak…}
{When shall you help me…}
{There is more battle to come, is there not, little one? Wait for it, for aid shall come, I shall aid you}
Quick steps took the dwarf towards the wall he had left before. Where he had seen a side of the elf that never before had he witnessed…that he did not thought existed…looking back of it, Gimli did not think it existed within the elf. It had seemed…evil.
His friend was staring ahead when he reached his place, and the calm he radiated, as if waiting for something to happen, was a stark contrast to the barely maintained sanity he had displayed earlier.
"Two!" said Gimli, patting his axe.
"Two?" asked Legolas softly, before turning in his direction. "I have done better, though now I must grope for spent arrows; all mine are gone. Yet I make my tale twenty at the least. But that is only a few leaves in a forest."
A pause, silence between them…
Then, the assault on the gates was redoubled. Against the Deeping Wall the hosts of Isengard roared like a sea. Orcs and hillmen swarmed about its feet from end to end. Ropes with grappling hooks were hurled over the parapet faster than men could cut them or fling them back.
{Battle is far from over, little one}
The men of Rohan grew weary. All their arrows were spent, and every shaft was shot; their swords were notched, and their shields were riven. Three times Aragorn and Éomer rallied them; and three times Andúril flamed in a desperate charge that drove the enemy from the wall. Legolas could see it all, the black hordes attempting entrances, and he soon heard the Black Speech floating through the whole fort. It sounded like the orcs were just arriving…like they were…
'Na Elbereth…' (By Elbereth) he whispered with a cry of dismay.
In the Deep behind Orcs had crept like rats through the culvert through which the stream flowed out. There they had gathered in the shadow of the cliffs, until the assault above was hottest. Then they sprang out. Already some had passed into the jaws of the Deep and were among the horses, fighting with the guards.
Gimli leapt with a fierce cry that echoed in the cliffs. 'Khazâd! Khazâd!' He soon had work enough.
"Ai-oi!" the dwarf shouted. "The Orcs are behind the wall. Ai-oi! Come, Legolas! There are enough for us both. Khazâd ai-mênu"
'An agarwaen cuil!' (For bloodstained life!) Legolas screamed as he went forward, and nobody took notice of another battle cry amongst so many. Aragorn, below, heard these words, and paused in battle for a mere second, before the orc on front of him almost made him pay for it. Then he could no longer think of the words he knew, had been screamed by his elven friend. Legolas went to follow Gimli, but was soon detained on his way, and the dwarf went ahead of him.
Gamling the Old, important man at the fort of Helm, looked down from the Hornburg, hearing the great voice of the dwarf above all the tumult. "The Orcs are in the Deep!" he cried. "Helm! Helm! Forth Helmingas." He shouted as he leaped down the stair from the Rock with many men of Westfold at his back.
Legolas saw this out of the corner of his eye. He had faced one foolish orc that had been going for the wall, and was now collecting a few precious arrows from wherever he could. He lost sight of his friend, and having descended a few steps, could not see Aragorn or Éomer. Only darkness, creatures of Isengard, and unknown men…
Not that he felt any more alone than he did when surrounded by friends.
Going back up worried over his comrades he peered out to the gloom below. "Legolas!" a familiar voice cried, and he recognized it as Aragorn's. "Be wary! Orcs are going up!"
In one swift motion his elven knives were pulled out of their sheaths, even as he heard for himself the sound of heavy feet. Soon, a group of some five orcs appeared, and he was ready for them. Knives flashing, one of them lost its head, and another its right arm. He saw Aragorn come to his aid with Éomer not far behind.
{They are here to make sure you do not slaughter them all}
{I am a warrior…}
{Show them…show them, princeling}
In a deathly dance of lightening speed, Legolas killed the orc that had lost its arm, as well as another that lunged at him. Stab, blood, a scream, and such a feel of satisfaction…
There were two left. Legolas moved fast, and in the blink of an eye, he buried his knife deep into the gut of the orc fighting with Aragorn. Éomer beheaded another in the corner of his eye.
He had killed four out of five.
Aragorn gazed at him in silence, as if seeing something new in him, but Legolas paid him no mind, as he turned away and cleaned his knife off the gore of battle. He felt satisfied. He never had felt it before in battle…it felt good…
Gimli climbed up and found Legolas beside Aragorn and Éomer. The elf was whetting his long knife. "Twenty-one!" said Gimli.
"Good!" Legolas answered. "But my count is now two dozen. It has been knife-work up here."
And it felt so good to say that…
Aragorn stared in silence; Éomer frowned to himself at a strange note he had caught in the musical voice of the blond archer. Gimli looked at Legolas, attempting to discover what was bringing this strange behavior from his friend…but Legolas did not even glance at them. He, instead, glanced at the battlefield below.
"This is a night as long as years," he heard the ranger say. And he smiled to himself.
{This night has lasted for years, already}
"'How long will the day tarry?'"
{Never will it come again, Princeling. Did you know that? Tell me, little one…do you feel it?}
A whimper was swallowed by the night, by the battle, by the conversation between Aragorn and Gamling…
{Aye…I fear so}
To be continued.
*hûl: Elvish cry of encouragement in battle means something close to "strength!"