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Thank you once again for the feedback and interest! Here is the next chapter. I hope it holds your interest and adds to the story's excitement. :)
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Part 15 - Battles
If she hit the target squarely in the center, he would be safe.
Aiming carefully, Amarië pulled back the string of her bow, her fingers brushing her cheek, her eyes narrowed in concentration. She loosed the arrow and watched it strike the intended mark exactly where she intended.
She drew another arrow from her quiver and nocked it. If she put this arrow within a hairsbreadth of the other one, he would come safely home to her. Again, she loosed her arrow, and again it struck where she intended.
How long would she continue this foolish exercise? She had been doing this for over an hour now, and it made her feel no better even though each time her aim had been true. It had only been a few hours since he had left. This time yesterday they had been making love in the woods. Now there was only this terrible feeling of emptiness.
She could not endure this waiting. What was she to do with her time? How could she shut out her fear? Her tears had stopped flowing, but now that horrible tightness in her chest had returned, the one that kept her from being able to cry.
"You suffer much," said a soft female voice behind her.
Startled, Amarië swung around. She had thought she was completely alone on the archery range, but she was wrong. Lornarië stood near, her lips curved in a small, sad smile.
Amarië shouldered her bow. "How long have you been there?"
"A few minutes. I came to see if there was anything I could do for you."
"That is kind of you, but there is nothing."
"If it is any consolation, there are others who suffer as you do. Many of our soldiers left lovers behind. Some are bound as you are. And some are not."
Amarië flushed. "I know there are others. You must think me selfish."
"Of course I do not!" Lornarië came close and laid a hand on her arm. "Each of us deals with our pain in our own way. I suffer too, for I have lost the one I love already."
"Oh, Lornarië, no!" Amarië gazed with dismay at the elf-maiden. "Do you mean Ennis?"
Lornarië nodded, her blue eyes shimmering with tears. "It seems absurd. I have had many lovers over the years-Ferodir, Haldir, Rúmil and Orophin, among others. You may not like hearing that, but it is true. And though I loved each of them and still do, I always wondered why I did not fall _in_ love with any of them." A tear rolled down her cheek. "But, oh, Amarië, I fell _in_ love with Ennis, and in a single night! And I know not if he loves me in return, nor if I will ever see him again. Truly, I am the most wretched soul in existence. What am I going to do?"
Amarië did not hesitate, but took Lornarië in her arms and held her while she cried. "I am so very sorry." She murmured soothing little phrases even as she absorbed the words the elf-maiden had spoken.
Lornarië had been one of Haldir's lovers. And just as she had told Haldir, she found it disturbed her not at all to know this. How could these elves survive their long lives if they did not take pleasure in each other? The weeping maiden in her arms was one of those who had helped him keep the loneliness at bay, and that made Lornarië very precious indeed.
"Come," she said, as Lornarië's sobs began to subside. "We will both see Ennis again. If he has fallen in love with you as you have with him, he is too stubborn to give you up so easily."
"Do you think so?" Lornarië gulped. "I know he said he might come back, but I dared not believe him. It would be too painful to hope and have it come to naught."
"There is always hope," Amarië replied firmly.
"Yes, I suppose you are right." Lornarië slipped her arm through Amarië's as they walked together across the field, whether to give or receive comfort, neither of them knew.
Amarië drew in a deep breath, inhaling the pungent scent of grass and wildflowers, listening to the rustle of the mellyrn trees and the sweet songs of the birds overhead. All around her, life continued, yet she felt so confused. How she wished she could remember her dreams! What was this Truth of which Galadriel spoke? What was she supposed to do?
Perhaps it was as others said. She would know what to do when the time came to do it. She must release her distrust and have faith. Right now she would spend time with Lornarië, and when she was alone again, she would do what she had vowed to do.
She would pray.
And she would trust that in time, all would be revealed.
#
Ennis led his men westward along the Celebrant, his thoughts anxious and very dark. They trod the path they had taken to get here, following the river across the plain to where it cut into the depths of the Misty Mountains. With Amarië gone, the men now accepted him as their leader even though he lacked the years that many of them had. The elven sword he carried seemed to have its effect upon them, as though by its very presence in his belt, it conferred to him some fundamental status. Had he really acquired skills that surpassed the others, as everyone seemed to think? And did that give him the right to be their leader?
Over the course of the past two weeks, Haldir had told Ennis that his progress had been unprecedented. His reflexes had sharpened, the strokes of his sword faster and more precise than they had ever been. And his archery skills had vastly improved, though not to the level of the elves' or his sister's proficiency. So much had he learned, and in such a short time! He knew he ought to be pleased, and yet his heart felt heavy.
Was it because of Lornarië? Yes, that was certainly much of it. Everything had happened so fast, he had hardly had time to digest what had taken place, or to sort out his resulting emotions. He had never been in love, and had for so long considered elves as dangerous beings that he could not quite take in what had happened, or understand why he had done what he had done. He only knew his heart ached for this elf-maiden in a way that it had never ached before. Frowning, he contemplated this as he walked across the fields and clambered over and around a seemingly endless sea of rocky outcroppings.
That explained his depression, but the source of his anxiety came from the knowledge that the world of men stood in such dire threat, and that the elves marched into what would likely be a terrible battle. Not only did this trouble him deeply, but he did not like leaving his sister or Lornarië in a city so lightly protected. Another worry brushed his mind, that if things did not go well, his sister might soon become a widow. And though he was loath to admit it, his initial dislike of the March Warden had faded. He still thought Haldir stuffy and arrogant and standoffish, but he also had a huge respect for him and his abilities, as well as all the other elves. Haldir was a worthy husband for Amarië, Ennis reflected.
But right now he must return to his homeland far to the west of the Misty Mountains, to combat the evil that besieged so many of the good people there. It was his mission, one he had sworn to do, and yet he now wondered whether the need for him might be greater elsewhere. Never before had he felt so conflicted, nor had life ever seemed so complicated. He had always thought of himself as a simple young man, with simple needs and simple thoughts and even simple humor. Yet he was changing. Something was different. He felt bolder, stronger, more self-assured. Taller, even.
And when he held the elven sword in his hand, he could almost feel its magic. And it troubled him not at all. What was happening to him?
Where the Orcs came from, he never knew, but he heard them before the others did, the heavy tramp of their steel-booted footfalls filling him with foreboding. He had not anticipated that his fighting skills would be tested so soon or so close to Lothlórien.
He heard his own voice shouting as he raised his bow, putting an arrow into the first Orc before the others had even raised their swords. Two more did he kill before they were upon him, but by then his hand held the elven sword, the sword that carried the protection of Elvish spells within its steel. By Varda, he hoped they would help. He looked around at all the Orcs. There were so many, so many . . .
He could only fight for his own life; he could do nothing to help the others. They were vastly outnumbered, yet his men were doing well, holding their own, slashing and hacking with their swords against these vile creatures with their angry red eyes and fetid breath. Their bows were of no use now; 'twas well that most of the men had concentrated on swordplay training. The improvement could be seen as Orc after Orc fell to the ground, howling with pain and fury as the men's weapons found the weak spots in their armor. From the corner of his eye, Ennis could see that at least two of his men were dead, but the rest still fought bravely. Nearby he could see young Angus chopping and slicing and parrying, but he could do nothing to assist him; he had his own problems.
At the moment, Ennis faced two large Orcs, both circling him with leering grins. Sweat poured from his brow as he prepared to lunge at one of them. The creature swung at him and he parried, then side-stepped as the other sent its weapon swinging through the air an inch from his chest. Ennis kicked out a foot, ramming the first Orc in the stomach, while he swiveled and swung his blade at the other. In the next instant, the second Orc nearly took off his head, but Ennis managed to duck with a fraction of an inch to spare.
He continued in this mode for some time, ducking and spinning, whirling and blocking, trying to edge toward a large boulder where he could gain an advantage. He could hear the moans of the dying all around him, both men and Orcs, but he shut it out. Just once, Lornarië's image flashed through his mind, but he shoved it aside and instead focused on what Haldir had showed him, taught him.
It helped just enough. He killed one of the Orcs with the first elven move he had learned, a deadly double whirl of his blade, combined with a smooth step to the side and a quick half-turn. As the first Orc dropped to the ground, the second roared its rage, exposing its rotting teeth as it loomed closer. Ennis drew a breath and tried another trick that Haldir had taught him. A moment later black blood spewed over his clothing as the Orc's head separated from its body and landed with a soft thud at his feet.
Elated, Ennis now had momentum to aid him. Perhaps the powerful elven spells in this sword were also helping to enhance his abilities, but whatever the case, in the next few minutes he killed at least a dozen Orcs, his movements faster and more adept than they had ever been. Breathing hard, he paused for a moment, glancing around to find his next victim when, from the corner of his eye, he saw an Orc charge toward him. Ennis' lips pulled back in a snarl as he started to turn, raising his sword to block, but there was no time and he knew he was dead. Even as this thought flew through his mind, he heard a ringing bellow, like that of a raging bull, as Rufus hurled himself forward, thrusting his large body between Ennis and the charging Orc. To Ennis' horror, the Orc's weapon struck Rufus, sinking deep into the red-headed man's stomach and out the other side.
Ennis killed that Orc and went on to the next one, having no time to attend to Rufus or any other. Many of the men were now slain, and most of the Orcs, but there were still more than a dozen to finish off. He went to work, knowing that two of his own were still with him, but then another fell with a sharp cry and went silent. Rage such as Ennis had never known swept through him, and he distantly heard himself roar as he hunted down the last few Orcs, who by now had started to show signs of fear.
Ennis went after each of them without mercy, his hot fury now gone cold as ice. And when the last of the evil creatures lay dead, he looked around and saw that only one other man stood upright, the young apprentice to the blacksmith, Angus. Like Ennis, Angus was covered in black blood, his chest heaving as he stared in horror at the carnage.
"Search for survivors," Ennis ordered roughly.
Angus gave a jerky nod and began to move.
Ennis went first to Rufus, dropping to his knees beside the one whom he knew had saved his own life. To his amazement, the red-haired man still lived, gasping for air, strangled sobs emitting from his thick throat. Ennis bent over him.
"Forgive," Rufus managed to get out, his voice raspy. "Forgive me."
Ennis frowned. "There is nothing to forgive, Rufus. You saved my life."
"Nay . . . I tried to rape her . . . your sister . . . the one I called witch."
"You raped Amarië?" Ennis drew back in revulsion and dismay.
Blood trickled from Rufus' mouth. "Nay, but . . . I tried . . . I hit her . . . the elf stopped me."
Ennis frowned, disturbed that he had not been told. "The elf? You mean Haldir?"
"Aye . . . he spared my life . . . I thought him weak for it . . . but I was wrong . . . forgive . . ." The rattle of death sounded in Rufus' throat.
"It is not for me to forgive you," Ennis said quietly. "It is not I whom you transgressed against. But for what it is worth, I forgive you. And when I tell Amarië that you saved my life, I think she will also. Be at peace, Rufus."
A moment later, he closed the dead man's eyes, then rose quickly as Angus staggered up.
"No one," Angus told him, his voice cracking. "No one lives. Only you and I." The young man sank slowly to his knees. "And I, too, am wounded."
And so it was that Ennis returned to Lothlórien, carrying an unconscious Angus on his back, leaving behind the bodies of his men and more than sixty Orcs.
#
The elven army headed south at the fastest possible pace, by mid- afternoon approaching the eastern border of Fangorn, known also as Entwood, which they would have to skirt in order to reach Rohan. Helm's Deep still lay more than seventy leagues to the south. They had a long way to go, but the elves knew how to rest while they traveled, and occasionally made brief stops where huge numbers of them would immediately lapse into reverie while the others stood guard.
Haldir had managed to keep his mind blank these first few hours, but now and then he allowed himself to think of Amarië. He had no doubts about the veracity of her dreams since she had clearly learned the Elvish tongue while she slept. Nor did he doubt that he had been right to forbid her to come. What other decision could he have made? None. Even if he had wished it, she had not the physical stamina to travel at this rate of speed. Yet why had she felt so strongly that she was meant to be at this battle? What could she possibly do for him that he could not do for himself?
With an irritable sigh, Haldir wished Amarië's father had visited him in his dreams. Perhaps then he might have known what to say to her, how to calm her fears. For himself, he felt no fear. When one had lived as long as he had, and seen as many battles as he had, and survived every one of them, it was difficult to think that the day might come when he would fall. He glanced down at his hand. The binding ring on his finger still felt new and odd, yet he would not take it off. It would serve as a talisman, a reminder of her love.
A reminder of all the reasons he wished to live.
#
For hours she had sat here, at the city's highest flet, praying and gazing out over the Golden Wood, reliving every moment she had spent in Lothlórien. Every glance Haldir had given her, every word he had spoken replayed in her mind, be it angry or loving, she did not care. She only wanted to hold every memory close.
"Amarië," said a deep voice. "I thought I might find you here."
Startled, she swiveled to face Lord Celeborn. He no longer wore flowing robes, but instead was garbed in a gray tunic and black leggings and under-tunic much like Haldir's, with a sword strapped to his waist and a bow and quiver on his shoulder.
"My lord," she said with alarm. "You are not going into battle too?"
"No, I remain in the city, but I am prepared to defend it, should the occasion arise." He sat down beside her on the bench. "Galadriel does not foresee it in her mirror, but I felt it was wise to be ready." He gave her an inscrutable look. "I cannot leave. You will need me later."
"To do that which I am meant to do?"
He nodded slowly, and settled an arm around her shoulders. "You do not weep, but you feel much fear and concern."
"How can I not?" she replied wearily.
"Indeed. And yet it is important to remember that light has more power than darkness."
She went rigid. "That is one thing my father told me in my dreams! I remember!"
"It is Truth, child. Darkness is the absence of light. That which IS must be more powerful than that which is NOT."
"Then how can darkness gain such a foothold?" she demanded in frustration. "The power of darkness and evil seems to do nothing but grow!"
Celeborn sighed. "I know not the answer to your question. There is much I do not understand. Even Galadriel does not see all, nor does she know exactly what it is that you must do. All she knows is that you can save him."
Words flowed into Amarië's head, and without pausing to think, she spoke them aloud. "Darkness gains a foothold because there are so many who believe in it. To believe in something is to gift it with power. Do you see? To win against darkness, we must believe in the light. And our belief must be stronger and purer and more steadfast than the beliefs of those who choose evil. With conscious intent and understanding, we must choose and uphold the power of the light."
Lord Celeborn lifted an eyebrow. "You seem to have answered your own question, granddaughter," he said gently.
She gazed into his deep blue eyes. "Yes," she said, her brow furrowed with perplexity. "I do not know where the knowledge came from. It just entered my head."
"Perhaps it is because the time draws near." His head lifted suddenly. "I must go. Galadriel wishes to speak with me."
#
Three Lórien elves greeted Ennis as he entered the Wood, only one of whom was known to him personally. Their bows were not drawn, for though it was nearly dark, they had been watching his approach for some time and indeed had been expecting him. One went forward and relieved him of his burden, laying Angus gently upon the forest floor while another quickly knelt over the wounded man.
Ennis drew in the dirt with a stick, indicating what had occurred and how many Orcs had been slain. The three elves looked at each other and then at Ennis, their expressions confirming what he had suspected. If this group of Orcs had reached Lothlórien, it might have gone very badly for the elves. It appeared that the humans had guarded the Lórien borders after all, most of them paying for it with their lives.
And the elf that Ennis recognized, one who had once mocked and taunted the men upon the training grounds, now bowed his head and touched a hand to his heart in a humble gesture of respect for the great sacrifice the humans had made.
His two companions did the same, then the tallest elf put his fingers to his lips and made a birdlike call. Within moments, a pale gray wood dove flew down and landed on his arm. The elf touched the bird gently, speaking soft Elvish words to it as he caressed its head and back. Then he released the bird, and it fluttered up to a nearby branch and looked down at them, cooing placidly.
The elf turned to Ennis, then glanced at the other two elves. A brief discussion ensued, in which they seemed to be debating the correct common tongue words to explain what they wished to say. Finally the first elf looked back at Ennis. "Morning," he said, and pointed to the dove. "Go. Caras Galadhon." More gestures followed.
Ennis understood that in the morning they would follow the dove to the city because there was no discernible path and because no elf could be spared to show him the way. Tonight, the elves would heal Angus of his injuries, which now appeared less grave than he had imagined, and they would sleep on an elven flet high above the ground.
And despite the horror of the day, despite the fact that he was bruised and weary, covered with Orc blood and sweat and the smell of death, Ennis could not help feeling a surge of elation. Because he had a chance to see Lornarië one more time.
#
Amarië barely slept that night. For hours she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering where Haldir was, what was happening, how long she would have to wait. At one point she thought of their connection, and managed to calm herself enough so she could use it to reach out to him. Within moments, she could feel the shimmering hum of his life force, which told her only that he was still alive and well. It was a comfort, one that put a touch of warmth into her heart and enabled her to get a small amount of rest before the dawn arrived.
In the morning, Lornarië arrived with food for both of them, setting the tray down carefully upon the table before she said soberly, "I have spoken with the Lady, and have been given leave to tell you that the mortals met with a large party of Orcs not far from the Lórien border."
"What happened?" Amarië touched her throat, her breath suddenly cut off.
"There was a fierce battle. All the Orcs were slain, but-I am sorry to have to tell you this-most of the mortals were also slain." She lifted a hand as Amarië turned white. "Fear not! Ennis lives! And one other only. But the Lady has communicated with the elves on the border and instructed that Ennis and the other one are to return to the city. She says she has seen a reason why Ennis must come back."
Amarië sat down slowly in the chair, feeling both sickened and relieved. "Did she say what that reason was?"
Lornarië shook her head, and seated herself in the other chair. "No, and I dared not ask. I assume she has seen something in her mirror. Come, let us eat," she added gently. "You need to keep up your strength. It will be hours yet before Ennis arrives."
Amarië nodded. "You are right," she said with a sigh.
#
The sun was setting by the time Ennis and Angus passed through the gates of the elven city. An elven guard met them, one who spoke the common tongue, and instructed them to follow a female elf, who would take them to Galadriel.
The two men were weary, but did as they were told, following the elegant elf along a pathway that led to one of the many winding stairways that encircled these giant trees. Hundreds of steps led them upward into this tree near the center of the city, perhaps the greatest among what must surely be hundreds. Ennis noted the way Angus gaped in awe, much as he himself had done only two days before. Strangely, Ennis now felt almost at ease here, though he still looked around him with a true sense of wonder.
They arrived at a high flet with yet another stairway leading to an arched doorway, and he saw that the Lady stood upon the top step, her glow illuminating everything around her. He had seen her at the celebration, observed her with interest, but she had not then exuded such a strong light, nor had she spoken to him, although she had looked at him and smiled. Now her unearthly light nearly blinded them, and he suddenly realized that he was viewing her with all her power revealed.
Slowly, and with such incredible grace that she almost appeared to float, Galadriel descended the stairs and stopped before them, her beautiful face set in a sorrowful expression as she took in their dishevelment and fatigue.
"You did what you could," she said gently, "and it was all you could do. Do not allow guilt to cast its yoke upon your spirits. Your companions fought bravely. Each has gone to the halls of his fathers and even at this moment rejoices."
She moved to stand directly in front of Angus, who trembled under her intense gaze. "Your destiny lies in Rohan," she told him. "In time, you will make your way back to the land of your own people. You are the chosen one, the one who will teach them all that you have learned from the elves and that which you have yet to learn from the Rohirrim. Your life was spared for this reason. You will not return to Lórien."
She transferred her somber gaze to Ennis, gazing deeply into his eyes as if she could see into the very depths of his soul. "Your future lies veiled from me, young Ennis. You have two paths from which to choose and they differ widely. All your life they have been there, side by side, but you have only seen one. Now you stand with one foot on each path, and soon they will diverge. Only one can you choose, and I know not which it will be, nor can I advise you in any way."
"What paths are these?" Ennis dared to ask.
But the Lady did not answer. "We will give you two horses. They are elven-trained and will not wear saddles, but you will manage. One of them is sentient, and will be told where to take you. You must ride quickly. The battle of Helm's Deep will be over by the time you arrive, but there will be much for both of you to do. Trust your feelings. They will be your guide."
"Does this mean you see the outcome of the battle?" Ennis inquired boldly.
Galadriel shook her head. "No, that is hidden from me." She glanced at Angus, whose eyes were huge and full of wonder, then returned her gaze to Ennis. "I have lived thousands of years. Once I lived in Valinor. I have even walked among the Valar themselves. But I cannot see whether the darkness will succeed or fail. All I know is that we must continue to fight. We cannot give in."
She reached out and touched Ennis beneath the chin, lifting it with a gentle pressure from her fingertips. For a long moment she studied his face. "Go now, both of you. Bathe and rest. Food and fresh clothing will be brought to you. Before you leave, you will speak with your sister. And Lornarië," she added, with the tiniest smile. She turned and ascended the stairs, then paused and glanced back. "Namárie."
Their female elf-guide stepped forward. "You will follow me," she said softly.
#
It was dark when the elven army reached the massive fortress of Helm's Deep, built directly into the rocky walls and northern valleys of the White Mountains. They had traveled far with great fleetness, yet both the Imladris and Lothlórien elves were in peak physical condition and were prepared to fight. As they approached the sloped causeway leading up to the gates, the elf behind Haldir blew the elven horn to announce their arrival.
Haldir led the army inside, gratified that the crisp lines of elven warriors marched with such precision despite the grueling journey. Since in his heart he felt that Elves were superior to the race of Men, he wished them to make a good impression when they arrived, which they were doing, if the awed looks on the faces around them were any indication.
An older man wearing finely crafted armor rushed forward and stared at Haldir and the elven army, his bewilderment laced with shock. His noble bearing and air of authority told Haldir that this was Théoden, King of Rohan.
"How can this be?" the king exclaimed, betraying with that single sentence how little faith he'd had in the likelihood that Elves or Men would come to his aid this night. Théoden had already resigned himself to defeat, Haldir reflected a bit critically. Elves would not have behaved so, but the race of Men was different. Their lives were short, their hopes shifting.
Haldir began the speech he had prepared ahead of time, announcing the elves' intentions of honoring the ancient alliances, but was unable to finish before Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli the Dwarf arrived. Haldir smiled slightly to acknowledge them, and was about to continue his speech when Aragorn forestalled him by rushing forward with a wide grin.
"Mae govannen!" Aragorn flung his arms around Haldir and hugged him, quite unnecessarily, in the March Warden's opinion. "You are most welcome!"
Taken aback and rather amused, Haldir had but an instant to choose his reaction. He opted for diplomacy. As Galadriel had correctly pointed out, he respected Aragorn, even if the man was a little impulsive with his emotions. Haldir therefore smiled and tried to look gracious while being enveloped by the mortal heir to the throne of Gondor. Then Legolas moved forward to greet him, and Haldir saw the other elf look straight into his eyes and lift a brow. Without a doubt, Legolas perceived that Haldir had taken a wife since last they'd met, but Legolas only smiled and said nothing.
Haldir turned once more to King Théoden and finished his speech. "We are proud to fight alongside Men once more."
It was the truth. They were proud and ready to fight, for many of the elves felt as Galadriel did, that they owed much to the land of Arda where they had dwelled for so long. And all wished to see the evil destroyed, the evil that the elves and even the Valar themselves had fought against for so long. Yet Sauron, servant of Morgoth and perhaps the mightiest of the Maiar, continued to wield power, and it was easy to see why so many would despair.
The elves were divided up, some taking their places on the wall, while others drew back where they could let loose with a mass volley of arrows when the time came. Haldir still commanded his elves, but as the future King of Gondor, Aragorn superceded him in rank, which Haldir accepted without question. Even Théoden seemed to wish Aragorn to be in command, which made sense since Aragorn spoke fluent Elvish.
Haldir stood gazing out into the dark, his elven ears picking up the distant sounds of the approaching enemy army. They were still far away, so he had time to think. Yet thinking might be dangerous, for he needed to keep his thoughts focused and away from Amarië. Tonight he needed to be strong, stronger than he had ever been in his life.
Lightning flashed across the sky, brightening the landscape with its sharp illumination. Thunder followed. The minutes passed, and it began to rain. Haldir could feel the tension all around him, even from the Elves, but for himself, he adhered to the controlled calm that he always maintained in battle.
And then the army came into view. It was huge, far larger than he had envisioned, despite Galadriel's warning. Isengard had belched forth its masses of stinking progeny. Ten thousand Uruk-hai, many carrying torches, stomped their feet in a thunderous noise intended to intimidate and to arouse their own blood lust.
They spread out across the landscape before the fortress of Helm's Deep like the wings of a gigantic and monstrous black dragon.
~*~
[To be continued . . .] FEEDBACK ALWAYS APPRECIATED! If you like this story, please check out my other stories also. :)
Thank you once again for the feedback and interest! Here is the next chapter. I hope it holds your interest and adds to the story's excitement. :)
~*~
Part 15 - Battles
If she hit the target squarely in the center, he would be safe.
Aiming carefully, Amarië pulled back the string of her bow, her fingers brushing her cheek, her eyes narrowed in concentration. She loosed the arrow and watched it strike the intended mark exactly where she intended.
She drew another arrow from her quiver and nocked it. If she put this arrow within a hairsbreadth of the other one, he would come safely home to her. Again, she loosed her arrow, and again it struck where she intended.
How long would she continue this foolish exercise? She had been doing this for over an hour now, and it made her feel no better even though each time her aim had been true. It had only been a few hours since he had left. This time yesterday they had been making love in the woods. Now there was only this terrible feeling of emptiness.
She could not endure this waiting. What was she to do with her time? How could she shut out her fear? Her tears had stopped flowing, but now that horrible tightness in her chest had returned, the one that kept her from being able to cry.
"You suffer much," said a soft female voice behind her.
Startled, Amarië swung around. She had thought she was completely alone on the archery range, but she was wrong. Lornarië stood near, her lips curved in a small, sad smile.
Amarië shouldered her bow. "How long have you been there?"
"A few minutes. I came to see if there was anything I could do for you."
"That is kind of you, but there is nothing."
"If it is any consolation, there are others who suffer as you do. Many of our soldiers left lovers behind. Some are bound as you are. And some are not."
Amarië flushed. "I know there are others. You must think me selfish."
"Of course I do not!" Lornarië came close and laid a hand on her arm. "Each of us deals with our pain in our own way. I suffer too, for I have lost the one I love already."
"Oh, Lornarië, no!" Amarië gazed with dismay at the elf-maiden. "Do you mean Ennis?"
Lornarië nodded, her blue eyes shimmering with tears. "It seems absurd. I have had many lovers over the years-Ferodir, Haldir, Rúmil and Orophin, among others. You may not like hearing that, but it is true. And though I loved each of them and still do, I always wondered why I did not fall _in_ love with any of them." A tear rolled down her cheek. "But, oh, Amarië, I fell _in_ love with Ennis, and in a single night! And I know not if he loves me in return, nor if I will ever see him again. Truly, I am the most wretched soul in existence. What am I going to do?"
Amarië did not hesitate, but took Lornarië in her arms and held her while she cried. "I am so very sorry." She murmured soothing little phrases even as she absorbed the words the elf-maiden had spoken.
Lornarië had been one of Haldir's lovers. And just as she had told Haldir, she found it disturbed her not at all to know this. How could these elves survive their long lives if they did not take pleasure in each other? The weeping maiden in her arms was one of those who had helped him keep the loneliness at bay, and that made Lornarië very precious indeed.
"Come," she said, as Lornarië's sobs began to subside. "We will both see Ennis again. If he has fallen in love with you as you have with him, he is too stubborn to give you up so easily."
"Do you think so?" Lornarië gulped. "I know he said he might come back, but I dared not believe him. It would be too painful to hope and have it come to naught."
"There is always hope," Amarië replied firmly.
"Yes, I suppose you are right." Lornarië slipped her arm through Amarië's as they walked together across the field, whether to give or receive comfort, neither of them knew.
Amarië drew in a deep breath, inhaling the pungent scent of grass and wildflowers, listening to the rustle of the mellyrn trees and the sweet songs of the birds overhead. All around her, life continued, yet she felt so confused. How she wished she could remember her dreams! What was this Truth of which Galadriel spoke? What was she supposed to do?
Perhaps it was as others said. She would know what to do when the time came to do it. She must release her distrust and have faith. Right now she would spend time with Lornarië, and when she was alone again, she would do what she had vowed to do.
She would pray.
And she would trust that in time, all would be revealed.
#
Ennis led his men westward along the Celebrant, his thoughts anxious and very dark. They trod the path they had taken to get here, following the river across the plain to where it cut into the depths of the Misty Mountains. With Amarië gone, the men now accepted him as their leader even though he lacked the years that many of them had. The elven sword he carried seemed to have its effect upon them, as though by its very presence in his belt, it conferred to him some fundamental status. Had he really acquired skills that surpassed the others, as everyone seemed to think? And did that give him the right to be their leader?
Over the course of the past two weeks, Haldir had told Ennis that his progress had been unprecedented. His reflexes had sharpened, the strokes of his sword faster and more precise than they had ever been. And his archery skills had vastly improved, though not to the level of the elves' or his sister's proficiency. So much had he learned, and in such a short time! He knew he ought to be pleased, and yet his heart felt heavy.
Was it because of Lornarië? Yes, that was certainly much of it. Everything had happened so fast, he had hardly had time to digest what had taken place, or to sort out his resulting emotions. He had never been in love, and had for so long considered elves as dangerous beings that he could not quite take in what had happened, or understand why he had done what he had done. He only knew his heart ached for this elf-maiden in a way that it had never ached before. Frowning, he contemplated this as he walked across the fields and clambered over and around a seemingly endless sea of rocky outcroppings.
That explained his depression, but the source of his anxiety came from the knowledge that the world of men stood in such dire threat, and that the elves marched into what would likely be a terrible battle. Not only did this trouble him deeply, but he did not like leaving his sister or Lornarië in a city so lightly protected. Another worry brushed his mind, that if things did not go well, his sister might soon become a widow. And though he was loath to admit it, his initial dislike of the March Warden had faded. He still thought Haldir stuffy and arrogant and standoffish, but he also had a huge respect for him and his abilities, as well as all the other elves. Haldir was a worthy husband for Amarië, Ennis reflected.
But right now he must return to his homeland far to the west of the Misty Mountains, to combat the evil that besieged so many of the good people there. It was his mission, one he had sworn to do, and yet he now wondered whether the need for him might be greater elsewhere. Never before had he felt so conflicted, nor had life ever seemed so complicated. He had always thought of himself as a simple young man, with simple needs and simple thoughts and even simple humor. Yet he was changing. Something was different. He felt bolder, stronger, more self-assured. Taller, even.
And when he held the elven sword in his hand, he could almost feel its magic. And it troubled him not at all. What was happening to him?
Where the Orcs came from, he never knew, but he heard them before the others did, the heavy tramp of their steel-booted footfalls filling him with foreboding. He had not anticipated that his fighting skills would be tested so soon or so close to Lothlórien.
He heard his own voice shouting as he raised his bow, putting an arrow into the first Orc before the others had even raised their swords. Two more did he kill before they were upon him, but by then his hand held the elven sword, the sword that carried the protection of Elvish spells within its steel. By Varda, he hoped they would help. He looked around at all the Orcs. There were so many, so many . . .
He could only fight for his own life; he could do nothing to help the others. They were vastly outnumbered, yet his men were doing well, holding their own, slashing and hacking with their swords against these vile creatures with their angry red eyes and fetid breath. Their bows were of no use now; 'twas well that most of the men had concentrated on swordplay training. The improvement could be seen as Orc after Orc fell to the ground, howling with pain and fury as the men's weapons found the weak spots in their armor. From the corner of his eye, Ennis could see that at least two of his men were dead, but the rest still fought bravely. Nearby he could see young Angus chopping and slicing and parrying, but he could do nothing to assist him; he had his own problems.
At the moment, Ennis faced two large Orcs, both circling him with leering grins. Sweat poured from his brow as he prepared to lunge at one of them. The creature swung at him and he parried, then side-stepped as the other sent its weapon swinging through the air an inch from his chest. Ennis kicked out a foot, ramming the first Orc in the stomach, while he swiveled and swung his blade at the other. In the next instant, the second Orc nearly took off his head, but Ennis managed to duck with a fraction of an inch to spare.
He continued in this mode for some time, ducking and spinning, whirling and blocking, trying to edge toward a large boulder where he could gain an advantage. He could hear the moans of the dying all around him, both men and Orcs, but he shut it out. Just once, Lornarië's image flashed through his mind, but he shoved it aside and instead focused on what Haldir had showed him, taught him.
It helped just enough. He killed one of the Orcs with the first elven move he had learned, a deadly double whirl of his blade, combined with a smooth step to the side and a quick half-turn. As the first Orc dropped to the ground, the second roared its rage, exposing its rotting teeth as it loomed closer. Ennis drew a breath and tried another trick that Haldir had taught him. A moment later black blood spewed over his clothing as the Orc's head separated from its body and landed with a soft thud at his feet.
Elated, Ennis now had momentum to aid him. Perhaps the powerful elven spells in this sword were also helping to enhance his abilities, but whatever the case, in the next few minutes he killed at least a dozen Orcs, his movements faster and more adept than they had ever been. Breathing hard, he paused for a moment, glancing around to find his next victim when, from the corner of his eye, he saw an Orc charge toward him. Ennis' lips pulled back in a snarl as he started to turn, raising his sword to block, but there was no time and he knew he was dead. Even as this thought flew through his mind, he heard a ringing bellow, like that of a raging bull, as Rufus hurled himself forward, thrusting his large body between Ennis and the charging Orc. To Ennis' horror, the Orc's weapon struck Rufus, sinking deep into the red-headed man's stomach and out the other side.
Ennis killed that Orc and went on to the next one, having no time to attend to Rufus or any other. Many of the men were now slain, and most of the Orcs, but there were still more than a dozen to finish off. He went to work, knowing that two of his own were still with him, but then another fell with a sharp cry and went silent. Rage such as Ennis had never known swept through him, and he distantly heard himself roar as he hunted down the last few Orcs, who by now had started to show signs of fear.
Ennis went after each of them without mercy, his hot fury now gone cold as ice. And when the last of the evil creatures lay dead, he looked around and saw that only one other man stood upright, the young apprentice to the blacksmith, Angus. Like Ennis, Angus was covered in black blood, his chest heaving as he stared in horror at the carnage.
"Search for survivors," Ennis ordered roughly.
Angus gave a jerky nod and began to move.
Ennis went first to Rufus, dropping to his knees beside the one whom he knew had saved his own life. To his amazement, the red-haired man still lived, gasping for air, strangled sobs emitting from his thick throat. Ennis bent over him.
"Forgive," Rufus managed to get out, his voice raspy. "Forgive me."
Ennis frowned. "There is nothing to forgive, Rufus. You saved my life."
"Nay . . . I tried to rape her . . . your sister . . . the one I called witch."
"You raped Amarië?" Ennis drew back in revulsion and dismay.
Blood trickled from Rufus' mouth. "Nay, but . . . I tried . . . I hit her . . . the elf stopped me."
Ennis frowned, disturbed that he had not been told. "The elf? You mean Haldir?"
"Aye . . . he spared my life . . . I thought him weak for it . . . but I was wrong . . . forgive . . ." The rattle of death sounded in Rufus' throat.
"It is not for me to forgive you," Ennis said quietly. "It is not I whom you transgressed against. But for what it is worth, I forgive you. And when I tell Amarië that you saved my life, I think she will also. Be at peace, Rufus."
A moment later, he closed the dead man's eyes, then rose quickly as Angus staggered up.
"No one," Angus told him, his voice cracking. "No one lives. Only you and I." The young man sank slowly to his knees. "And I, too, am wounded."
And so it was that Ennis returned to Lothlórien, carrying an unconscious Angus on his back, leaving behind the bodies of his men and more than sixty Orcs.
#
The elven army headed south at the fastest possible pace, by mid- afternoon approaching the eastern border of Fangorn, known also as Entwood, which they would have to skirt in order to reach Rohan. Helm's Deep still lay more than seventy leagues to the south. They had a long way to go, but the elves knew how to rest while they traveled, and occasionally made brief stops where huge numbers of them would immediately lapse into reverie while the others stood guard.
Haldir had managed to keep his mind blank these first few hours, but now and then he allowed himself to think of Amarië. He had no doubts about the veracity of her dreams since she had clearly learned the Elvish tongue while she slept. Nor did he doubt that he had been right to forbid her to come. What other decision could he have made? None. Even if he had wished it, she had not the physical stamina to travel at this rate of speed. Yet why had she felt so strongly that she was meant to be at this battle? What could she possibly do for him that he could not do for himself?
With an irritable sigh, Haldir wished Amarië's father had visited him in his dreams. Perhaps then he might have known what to say to her, how to calm her fears. For himself, he felt no fear. When one had lived as long as he had, and seen as many battles as he had, and survived every one of them, it was difficult to think that the day might come when he would fall. He glanced down at his hand. The binding ring on his finger still felt new and odd, yet he would not take it off. It would serve as a talisman, a reminder of her love.
A reminder of all the reasons he wished to live.
#
For hours she had sat here, at the city's highest flet, praying and gazing out over the Golden Wood, reliving every moment she had spent in Lothlórien. Every glance Haldir had given her, every word he had spoken replayed in her mind, be it angry or loving, she did not care. She only wanted to hold every memory close.
"Amarië," said a deep voice. "I thought I might find you here."
Startled, she swiveled to face Lord Celeborn. He no longer wore flowing robes, but instead was garbed in a gray tunic and black leggings and under-tunic much like Haldir's, with a sword strapped to his waist and a bow and quiver on his shoulder.
"My lord," she said with alarm. "You are not going into battle too?"
"No, I remain in the city, but I am prepared to defend it, should the occasion arise." He sat down beside her on the bench. "Galadriel does not foresee it in her mirror, but I felt it was wise to be ready." He gave her an inscrutable look. "I cannot leave. You will need me later."
"To do that which I am meant to do?"
He nodded slowly, and settled an arm around her shoulders. "You do not weep, but you feel much fear and concern."
"How can I not?" she replied wearily.
"Indeed. And yet it is important to remember that light has more power than darkness."
She went rigid. "That is one thing my father told me in my dreams! I remember!"
"It is Truth, child. Darkness is the absence of light. That which IS must be more powerful than that which is NOT."
"Then how can darkness gain such a foothold?" she demanded in frustration. "The power of darkness and evil seems to do nothing but grow!"
Celeborn sighed. "I know not the answer to your question. There is much I do not understand. Even Galadriel does not see all, nor does she know exactly what it is that you must do. All she knows is that you can save him."
Words flowed into Amarië's head, and without pausing to think, she spoke them aloud. "Darkness gains a foothold because there are so many who believe in it. To believe in something is to gift it with power. Do you see? To win against darkness, we must believe in the light. And our belief must be stronger and purer and more steadfast than the beliefs of those who choose evil. With conscious intent and understanding, we must choose and uphold the power of the light."
Lord Celeborn lifted an eyebrow. "You seem to have answered your own question, granddaughter," he said gently.
She gazed into his deep blue eyes. "Yes," she said, her brow furrowed with perplexity. "I do not know where the knowledge came from. It just entered my head."
"Perhaps it is because the time draws near." His head lifted suddenly. "I must go. Galadriel wishes to speak with me."
#
Three Lórien elves greeted Ennis as he entered the Wood, only one of whom was known to him personally. Their bows were not drawn, for though it was nearly dark, they had been watching his approach for some time and indeed had been expecting him. One went forward and relieved him of his burden, laying Angus gently upon the forest floor while another quickly knelt over the wounded man.
Ennis drew in the dirt with a stick, indicating what had occurred and how many Orcs had been slain. The three elves looked at each other and then at Ennis, their expressions confirming what he had suspected. If this group of Orcs had reached Lothlórien, it might have gone very badly for the elves. It appeared that the humans had guarded the Lórien borders after all, most of them paying for it with their lives.
And the elf that Ennis recognized, one who had once mocked and taunted the men upon the training grounds, now bowed his head and touched a hand to his heart in a humble gesture of respect for the great sacrifice the humans had made.
His two companions did the same, then the tallest elf put his fingers to his lips and made a birdlike call. Within moments, a pale gray wood dove flew down and landed on his arm. The elf touched the bird gently, speaking soft Elvish words to it as he caressed its head and back. Then he released the bird, and it fluttered up to a nearby branch and looked down at them, cooing placidly.
The elf turned to Ennis, then glanced at the other two elves. A brief discussion ensued, in which they seemed to be debating the correct common tongue words to explain what they wished to say. Finally the first elf looked back at Ennis. "Morning," he said, and pointed to the dove. "Go. Caras Galadhon." More gestures followed.
Ennis understood that in the morning they would follow the dove to the city because there was no discernible path and because no elf could be spared to show him the way. Tonight, the elves would heal Angus of his injuries, which now appeared less grave than he had imagined, and they would sleep on an elven flet high above the ground.
And despite the horror of the day, despite the fact that he was bruised and weary, covered with Orc blood and sweat and the smell of death, Ennis could not help feeling a surge of elation. Because he had a chance to see Lornarië one more time.
#
Amarië barely slept that night. For hours she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering where Haldir was, what was happening, how long she would have to wait. At one point she thought of their connection, and managed to calm herself enough so she could use it to reach out to him. Within moments, she could feel the shimmering hum of his life force, which told her only that he was still alive and well. It was a comfort, one that put a touch of warmth into her heart and enabled her to get a small amount of rest before the dawn arrived.
In the morning, Lornarië arrived with food for both of them, setting the tray down carefully upon the table before she said soberly, "I have spoken with the Lady, and have been given leave to tell you that the mortals met with a large party of Orcs not far from the Lórien border."
"What happened?" Amarië touched her throat, her breath suddenly cut off.
"There was a fierce battle. All the Orcs were slain, but-I am sorry to have to tell you this-most of the mortals were also slain." She lifted a hand as Amarië turned white. "Fear not! Ennis lives! And one other only. But the Lady has communicated with the elves on the border and instructed that Ennis and the other one are to return to the city. She says she has seen a reason why Ennis must come back."
Amarië sat down slowly in the chair, feeling both sickened and relieved. "Did she say what that reason was?"
Lornarië shook her head, and seated herself in the other chair. "No, and I dared not ask. I assume she has seen something in her mirror. Come, let us eat," she added gently. "You need to keep up your strength. It will be hours yet before Ennis arrives."
Amarië nodded. "You are right," she said with a sigh.
#
The sun was setting by the time Ennis and Angus passed through the gates of the elven city. An elven guard met them, one who spoke the common tongue, and instructed them to follow a female elf, who would take them to Galadriel.
The two men were weary, but did as they were told, following the elegant elf along a pathway that led to one of the many winding stairways that encircled these giant trees. Hundreds of steps led them upward into this tree near the center of the city, perhaps the greatest among what must surely be hundreds. Ennis noted the way Angus gaped in awe, much as he himself had done only two days before. Strangely, Ennis now felt almost at ease here, though he still looked around him with a true sense of wonder.
They arrived at a high flet with yet another stairway leading to an arched doorway, and he saw that the Lady stood upon the top step, her glow illuminating everything around her. He had seen her at the celebration, observed her with interest, but she had not then exuded such a strong light, nor had she spoken to him, although she had looked at him and smiled. Now her unearthly light nearly blinded them, and he suddenly realized that he was viewing her with all her power revealed.
Slowly, and with such incredible grace that she almost appeared to float, Galadriel descended the stairs and stopped before them, her beautiful face set in a sorrowful expression as she took in their dishevelment and fatigue.
"You did what you could," she said gently, "and it was all you could do. Do not allow guilt to cast its yoke upon your spirits. Your companions fought bravely. Each has gone to the halls of his fathers and even at this moment rejoices."
She moved to stand directly in front of Angus, who trembled under her intense gaze. "Your destiny lies in Rohan," she told him. "In time, you will make your way back to the land of your own people. You are the chosen one, the one who will teach them all that you have learned from the elves and that which you have yet to learn from the Rohirrim. Your life was spared for this reason. You will not return to Lórien."
She transferred her somber gaze to Ennis, gazing deeply into his eyes as if she could see into the very depths of his soul. "Your future lies veiled from me, young Ennis. You have two paths from which to choose and they differ widely. All your life they have been there, side by side, but you have only seen one. Now you stand with one foot on each path, and soon they will diverge. Only one can you choose, and I know not which it will be, nor can I advise you in any way."
"What paths are these?" Ennis dared to ask.
But the Lady did not answer. "We will give you two horses. They are elven-trained and will not wear saddles, but you will manage. One of them is sentient, and will be told where to take you. You must ride quickly. The battle of Helm's Deep will be over by the time you arrive, but there will be much for both of you to do. Trust your feelings. They will be your guide."
"Does this mean you see the outcome of the battle?" Ennis inquired boldly.
Galadriel shook her head. "No, that is hidden from me." She glanced at Angus, whose eyes were huge and full of wonder, then returned her gaze to Ennis. "I have lived thousands of years. Once I lived in Valinor. I have even walked among the Valar themselves. But I cannot see whether the darkness will succeed or fail. All I know is that we must continue to fight. We cannot give in."
She reached out and touched Ennis beneath the chin, lifting it with a gentle pressure from her fingertips. For a long moment she studied his face. "Go now, both of you. Bathe and rest. Food and fresh clothing will be brought to you. Before you leave, you will speak with your sister. And Lornarië," she added, with the tiniest smile. She turned and ascended the stairs, then paused and glanced back. "Namárie."
Their female elf-guide stepped forward. "You will follow me," she said softly.
#
It was dark when the elven army reached the massive fortress of Helm's Deep, built directly into the rocky walls and northern valleys of the White Mountains. They had traveled far with great fleetness, yet both the Imladris and Lothlórien elves were in peak physical condition and were prepared to fight. As they approached the sloped causeway leading up to the gates, the elf behind Haldir blew the elven horn to announce their arrival.
Haldir led the army inside, gratified that the crisp lines of elven warriors marched with such precision despite the grueling journey. Since in his heart he felt that Elves were superior to the race of Men, he wished them to make a good impression when they arrived, which they were doing, if the awed looks on the faces around them were any indication.
An older man wearing finely crafted armor rushed forward and stared at Haldir and the elven army, his bewilderment laced with shock. His noble bearing and air of authority told Haldir that this was Théoden, King of Rohan.
"How can this be?" the king exclaimed, betraying with that single sentence how little faith he'd had in the likelihood that Elves or Men would come to his aid this night. Théoden had already resigned himself to defeat, Haldir reflected a bit critically. Elves would not have behaved so, but the race of Men was different. Their lives were short, their hopes shifting.
Haldir began the speech he had prepared ahead of time, announcing the elves' intentions of honoring the ancient alliances, but was unable to finish before Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli the Dwarf arrived. Haldir smiled slightly to acknowledge them, and was about to continue his speech when Aragorn forestalled him by rushing forward with a wide grin.
"Mae govannen!" Aragorn flung his arms around Haldir and hugged him, quite unnecessarily, in the March Warden's opinion. "You are most welcome!"
Taken aback and rather amused, Haldir had but an instant to choose his reaction. He opted for diplomacy. As Galadriel had correctly pointed out, he respected Aragorn, even if the man was a little impulsive with his emotions. Haldir therefore smiled and tried to look gracious while being enveloped by the mortal heir to the throne of Gondor. Then Legolas moved forward to greet him, and Haldir saw the other elf look straight into his eyes and lift a brow. Without a doubt, Legolas perceived that Haldir had taken a wife since last they'd met, but Legolas only smiled and said nothing.
Haldir turned once more to King Théoden and finished his speech. "We are proud to fight alongside Men once more."
It was the truth. They were proud and ready to fight, for many of the elves felt as Galadriel did, that they owed much to the land of Arda where they had dwelled for so long. And all wished to see the evil destroyed, the evil that the elves and even the Valar themselves had fought against for so long. Yet Sauron, servant of Morgoth and perhaps the mightiest of the Maiar, continued to wield power, and it was easy to see why so many would despair.
The elves were divided up, some taking their places on the wall, while others drew back where they could let loose with a mass volley of arrows when the time came. Haldir still commanded his elves, but as the future King of Gondor, Aragorn superceded him in rank, which Haldir accepted without question. Even Théoden seemed to wish Aragorn to be in command, which made sense since Aragorn spoke fluent Elvish.
Haldir stood gazing out into the dark, his elven ears picking up the distant sounds of the approaching enemy army. They were still far away, so he had time to think. Yet thinking might be dangerous, for he needed to keep his thoughts focused and away from Amarië. Tonight he needed to be strong, stronger than he had ever been in his life.
Lightning flashed across the sky, brightening the landscape with its sharp illumination. Thunder followed. The minutes passed, and it began to rain. Haldir could feel the tension all around him, even from the Elves, but for himself, he adhered to the controlled calm that he always maintained in battle.
And then the army came into view. It was huge, far larger than he had envisioned, despite Galadriel's warning. Isengard had belched forth its masses of stinking progeny. Ten thousand Uruk-hai, many carrying torches, stomped their feet in a thunderous noise intended to intimidate and to arouse their own blood lust.
They spread out across the landscape before the fortress of Helm's Deep like the wings of a gigantic and monstrous black dragon.
~*~
[To be continued . . .] FEEDBACK ALWAYS APPRECIATED! If you like this story, please check out my other stories also. :)
