DISCLAIMER: Guys… If I owned them I certainly wouldn't be here… Would have better things to do, like playing with my favourite Elf…*dirty grin*
OMG, OMG…15 reviews for a chapter!!! You guys rock!!! *huggles all reviewers* Even bigger is my guilt for taking such an incredulously long time in updating! I'M SO SORRY, PLEASE FORGIVE ME!!! *grovels at readers' feet* The university and an unexpected bout of bad luck (my computer took a two-week-holiday to Mandos) kept me from continuing the story…*sniff* Add a little bit of writer's block… Et voilá, we have a very, very bad combo…
And to think that I'm leaving for a three-week-long vacation makes my skin crawl with bad conscience. SO SORRY!!!!!
This chapter was part of a larger one, but I decided to split it in two (cause I got stuck again-damn me!!!)…It's very late, so please excuse me (again) if my replies to you lovely people out there are so extremely unwitty and rubbish… I'm currently trying to keep my eyes open with chopsticks *eye lids droop lower* ouch!!!
CARRIE: How's Aragorn? I don't think he has complained too much… after all..it was me…*smirk* Arwen, stand aside, here comes Trish! *Aragorn runs away screaming* Ah…that felt so good! I LOVED YOUR REVIEW, MY HUGGABLE SPAWN OF DARKNESS!!!
FAER: Yup, I definitely wouldn't like to be in the hands of Eowyn, too, she is really... uhm… how should I say it… *unique*.
Ah well, I certainly wouldn't mind to tend to our little Legolas…*pictures Legolas confined to bed… to MY bed…*
FAITH: hehe… here you are… shape-shifter heads arolling… Thank you for the sweet review!
GWYN: Leggy is more than defiant…Just ask Gimli… *smirks* THANK YOU FOR THE LOVELY REVIEW!
LADYOFMIRKWOOD: Well, Legolas is not dead, not yet. After all, I had to sign a contract, I must return them all in the end (although it didn't specify their condition…*grins evilly*)
LEGOFILINDE: *waves* HELLO!!! I've just caught up with your fics, and…wow!!! Can't decide which one is better…if "The Bait", "Dragonrider", "Hidden"… I will review as soon as possible, I promise! I'm so sorry it took me so long for updating, but well, now I've got my lazy butt up and…here it is. I hope it meets the expectations…*head hangs low*
LEHEARA: I'm evil…so very, very evil…MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA *huggles Leheara* THANK YOU FOR COUNTING ME TO YOUR FAVOURITE AUTHORS.
LITTLEFISH: OMG,OMG,OMG…TOLKIEN HIM (or better HER-)SELF REVIEWED TO ME! *points proudly at one of ff.net greatest authors, sticking out a blinking sign* She reviewed to me, she reviewed to me *bounces happily* I got your review on my birthday, so it really made my day! It was one of the best presents I ever got! It really means so much to me… I have followed your advice and found two magnificent beta-readers *huggles Whit and Elwen* They will proof-read my fic from the next chapter on… THANX AGAIN!
LORWEN: I did it, I did it, I did it! *dances happily on her bed* Sent you FOTR extended version today. Hope you like it! *huggles Lorwen* See you in August at the chat!
NICOLA: Hallole! DANKE NOCHMALS FÜR ALLES!!! HOffe, dass Sirius mich nicht so sehr vermisst, während der ferien...Hey, das würde nämlich Folter-pause heißen...Ne, ne, wir e-mailen uns, und Gnade Eru Sirius *huggles Nicola*
RYOKO: Scary enough? Hopefully I got hooked you up … Thank you !!!
SHAAN LIEN: Me, horrid? Whatever gave you the idea? *ponders* Really don't know… My fic a good story?*blushes* Thank you!
SHANDRIAL: *gives her a strange look*Uh…you..actually like *fluff*? And *Arwen*? LOL…LOLOLOLOLOL….ROTFLAMO..MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHA…Am I seeing some nice Aragorn-Arwen-torture in the future? I certainly love fics which base upon Elrond's reaction towards Estel's love for his Undomiel.*whistles innocently* Have I given you a rabid plot bunny? I really hope so…
SKY BUM: Well…Next chappie will be the reunion chapter…*sobs pleading forgiveness*
WHITE WOLF: Stubborn? Our little prince stubborn? Nooo…*voice dripping with sarcasm* He is not the one smacking Aragorn senseless and riding off towards death *glares at author* Nonono… Ah, but as I said before... I wouldn't care to have my own little Elf Prince confined to a certain bed…stubborn or not…*contented sigh* I hope I did the battles scenes justice...
Chapter 8: LIKE A PHOENIX….
Night had descended early on the forest, wrapping it in its darkness as if to shield the Elven realm from unfriendly eyes. But it failed. As predicted, a large host of Orcs and Uruk-hai had marched in on them, fouling the ground with their evil presence. Their rotting stench hung heavily in the air, and masses and masses of them besieged Eryn Feredron, waiting the call of the night to launch their attack.
The Elves had barely had two days to anticipate their coming, and if it hadn't been for the fortification of the city having been started on the very day of King Elessar's arrival, everything might have been lost.
As things stood, the chance of defeat was more a promise than a threat.
Gimli growled.
*Like Helm's Deep. Once again. Will we prevail, or…* He hadn't even the heart to consider the possibility, how likely a prospect it was. *It's no good losing hope. Hope… Estel…* Gimli glanced at his friend standing next to him, face solemn, bleakly gazing into something far beyond the range of mortal sight. *At least we have hope. Even if hope has lost himself.*
"Hmmphhhh!" Bouncing up and down Gimli tried to get a better view at what was happening below him. *Where's the necessity to build such high walls? Are the Elves afraid to fall down and break their-ah so graceful necks?* Cursing mentally he craned his neck only to jump startled as a hand was gently laid on his shoulder.
Aragorn was looking down at him, a wry half-smile on his face.
"Shall I tell you what's going on? Or… shall I fetch you a box, Master Gimli?"
Gimli just stared open-mouthedly at the king – and then barked a short laugh. A pang of guilt hit him - that had been exactly the words Legolas had said to him at Helm's Deep! Forlornly he remembered the beginnings of their friendship.
They had loathed each other from first sight and didn't let pass any occasion to provoke and insult each other. Nobody knew how – but gradually hate and mistrust had turned into friendship and brotherhood, and although both would rather kiss an Orc than admit their bond openly, if you crossed one you suddenly found yourself facing two formidable opponents.
Gimli grabbed the hilt of his axe tighter. They had been two faces of the same coin, and now he and Aragorn where alone.
Well, not exactly. There were thousands of Uruk-hai eager to keep them company.
*********
They were marching at a hard pace, pausing as little as possible. Although Legolas said little and certainly didn't push them everybody watching him was keenly aware of his unrest. The usually composed and serene Elf was shifting in his saddle, looking around, urging his mount onwards, only to ride back again to the rear of the company. Equally obvious was his weakness. His shoulders were slumped, and every now and then he had to steady himself in order not to fall from his horse.
Faramir watched him with growing concern as he turned his horse around once again, and grabbing Arod's reigns he finally brought horse and rider to a halt.
"Will you stop prancing around, mellon nîn? You are making me slightly nervous. Not to mention my men. It's really not funny to have an Elf hovering over you."
Legolas simply stared at his friend, not really seeing him at all. "Legolas? Legolas!"
Startled out of his reverie he tried to focus on him, his grey eyes slightly glazed over with pain, weariness and apprehension.
"I can feel them. I can feel them defiling Elvish soil." The words were barely a whisper, but their anxiety filled Faramir with dread. They were arriving too late.
Without warning a strong gust of wind swept over the company, startling the horses, forcing the riders to employ all their skill to stay seated, but the roaring wind muffled the men's shouts, and the foot soldiers found themselves holding at each other in order to remain upright against the force of the wind.
In midst of the chaos however, Legolas cocked his head, listening to the whispering of the trees. Watching him intently, Faramir pondered once again his friend's communion with nature. He was not only a Wood Elf, but also the Lord of this forest, and the trees had pledged him allegiance, guiding and informing him.
"What news, Legolas?" If someone had told Faramir some years ago that he would listen to the counsel of trees, he would have laughed at first and then swiftly proceeded to remove this poor delusional soul from his company. Mental instability wasn't very becoming for a ranger, after all.
But now he was sitting in his saddle, patiently awaiting the tidings of the forest.
Suddenly Legolas' body jerked, and he toppled from his horse. Startled Faramir leapt down and hurried at his friend's side, concern written all over his face. Legolas got to his knees slowly, panting hard, tremors racking his lean form. Kneeling down Faramir reached out to help him up.
"Legolas!" But the Elf was oblivious to his surroundings, kneeling on the forest floor, knuckles whitening from the vicious grip he had on the strands of grass. Agony was etched on his face, and he was mouthing frantically. Slowly the muted words were raised into a chant, a language even more ancient than Quenya spilled from his lips, its volume swelling simultaneously with the increasing glow of his body. The chanting drowned all sounds, and the men had to close their eyes in order not to be blinded with the bright light emitted by their Elven companion. Faramir staggered back as if physically struck, arms raised to defend himself from never coming blows. The chanting reached an ear-splitting volume, culminating in the Elvish war cry. "Elbereth Gilthoniel!"
The storm calmed abruptly as did the chanting. The only traces of the events transcurred were the strewn leaves and fallen braches around them. Faramir looked in horror at his friend, for the first time in his life afraid of him. He had never seen him like this. Legolas looked like one of the Valar, incredibly fair but terrible to behold. He couldn't discern his features apart from the piercing grey eyes. And what eyes! Blazing chips of mithril, with the depth of millennia of wisdom and millennia of wrath. The ire raging in his eyes was older than Legolas himself, it was the wrath of the Firstborns, the wrath of the high kings. Before him stood one of the last remaining Elven kings in Middle Earth, and Faramir felt as unworthy as never before in his life; if the creature in front of him had proceeded to squash him like a bug Faramir wouldn't have lift a finger to defend himself.
"They are attacking Eryn Feredron." The statement was made flatly by an inhuman voice devoid of emotions and devoid of the usual lilting accent. Faramir couldn't do anything but nod numbly and stare.
"We have to hurry. It's still a two days ride. MOUNT AND MARCH!"
The soldiers who had fallen from their horses scrambled hurriedly atop of them, nobody questioning Legolas' assumption of the leadership. Urging their horses onwards the company rode off into the night.
***********
"Let me pass!"
"Your highness, please, stay there. This is no place for you!"
"Who are you to assume the right to judge the place of the High Prince of Gondor? Get out of my way, soldier, or incur my wrath!" Shoving the anxious man out of his way Eldarion stormed up the stairs to the wall.
"My lord, your highness, please…" The soldier gripped the shoulder of his prince, desperately trying to hold him back. Swirling around Eldarion pushed the soldier against the wall and with a surprising quickness, proof of his Elven heritage, pressed a dagger against the soldier's throat. The man looked at his prince wide-eyed, shocked, not believing having been bested by a twelve-year-old boy, half-elf or not.
"How dare you. HOW DARE YOU!" Eldarion's livid face was only inches from the poor man's one, his eyes blazing with an unearthly fury.
"What's the meaning of this? Explain yourselves!" Alerted by the commotion Aragorn had climbed down the stairs and now stood rooted to the spot beholding the scene displayed in front of him. Incredulousity, confusion and anger were the emotions racing over his face until he finally settled for a stern expression. His look brooked no argument, and slowly Eldarion lowered his dagger and stepped back.
"He dared to stop me," Eldarion spat, "he dared to restrain me!" He looked ready to attack the frightened soldier again. His bearing had become increasingly aggressive and arrogant during the last days, and Aragorn was shocked to watch his son behaving in such a manner.
"Your majesty, I tried to prevent him climbing the stairs. The outer wall is no place for your son, my king, the attack is about to be launched, and I feared for his life." The soldier had finally found his voice again, and the words tumbled out of him quickly, as if afraid not to be able to finish.
"I'm no child!" The soldier was interrupted heatedly, "I…"
"You certainly are!" Aragorn boomed. "And you are behaving like a spoiled brat at the moment, with less wit and reason than the twelve years you claim to be. Why, your little sister would behave with more intelligence than you, Eldarion. Say, *Princeling*, what possessed you to attack a guard of Gondor whose only intention is your safety and wellbeing? I'm disappointed with you."
Eldarion blanched at his sire's outburst, seldom having seen him so furious, and especially never having been at the receiving end of such wrath. But instead to give in to the burning shame he felt, he straightened his shoulders, and head held high he chose to defy his father.
"Well, he should know better than to lie hands on me. And to stop me from giving those wretched creatures what they deserve. It really seems I am the only one caring what happened to Legolas. I certainly won't shun my responsibility like certain others!"
Rendered speechless at his son's insolence he blinked, breathing deeply to retain a semblance of calm, not wanting to say or do anything he might regret afterwards. Grinding his teeth he fought the urge to step forward and strike his wayward son. Aragorn had never raised hands against any of his children, not even spanked them despite their numerous antics and pranks, greatly detesting the idea of using violence with any of his loved ones. *Maybe that was a mistake. * Appalled at his thoughts he scolded himself. *He is hurting,* he reasoned, *trying to drown his grief with anger. You know from own experience that it is easier to be furious than to mourn. After all, he is still a boy.*
Staring hard at his son Aragorn felt something inside him snap when he noticed the unrepentant eyes, the faint sneer on the handsome face. Before anybody could interfere, Aragorn slapped his son.
Once.
Twice.
Hard.
Reeling with the blows Eldarion staggered backwards, finally steadying himself against the wall. He brought up his hand to the stinging cheeks, staring incredulously at his father's impassive face. Not a flicker of emotion was to be discerned. Cold eyes locked with his. If possible, these eyes hurt even more than the delivered blows. Where there was usually to be found love and tenderness now there was positively nothing. Not even fury.
Licking his lips Eldarion tasted the metallic taste of blood. Swiping away the faint trickle of blood with the back of his hand he felt tears threatening to spill and stiffled a sob.He was completely aware that he had brought this on himself, but this knowledge did little to lessen his misery. On the contrary, he loathed himself for what he had done, knowing that he had disappointed his father, his king.
Aragorn watched in shock his son stumble backwards and then wiping away the blood from his split lip. He was completely numb as Eldarion stared at him, then at the blood, and then again back at him. Eyes were glistening with unshed tears, and confusion, pain and loathing were clearly mirrored in those grey eyes so much like his own. His heart constricted at the sight of his son's misery, and the loathing in Eldarion's eyes pierced him like a dagger. He was oblivious at the several Elves and Gondorian soldiers gaping at him, stunned and disbelieving. He himself could hardly believe the deed he had perpetrated. He had struck his own son! His own flesh and blood, his beloved heir! Unable to endure the hurt expression of him he turned around, and with a nod motioned his captain standing next to him to take his son.
"Take Eldarion below, and see that he stays out of mischief!"
Bowing low the captain raised his fist to his breast. "I'll guard him with my life, my lord. As long as I stand no harm will come to him."
Aragorn nodded curtly at this solemn vow, and with a last forgiveness pleading glance returned to the ledge of the outer wall.
If possible, the night had darkened further, making it difficult to discern the black masses below. The flickering of the torches brought little light, on the contrary, the shadows cast by them increased the impression of desolation and imminent doom.
The archers were all positioned on the wall, bows ready, calmly awaiting the order to fire. They stood completely relaxed, nothing betraying their nervousness, faces determined. Outwardly relaxed Aragorn himself was taut like a bow string ready to release its lethal projectile. He surveyed the part of the outer wall he was in charge of, taking in the warriors surrounding him. His men were behind the archers, swords drawn. They, too, seemed unfazed with the prospect of being vastly outnumbered, but the white knuckles around the hilts and the grim faces told another story.
Among the archers there were Elves with pots full of boiling oil, eager the pour the scorching contents on anything daring to approach the wall.
Below them, in the outer yard there were more archers, bows drawn and arrows notched. They might be outnumbered, but by Eru, the beast would find that it was folly to taunt an Elf the hard way before the end of the night.
A huge roar redirected his attention onto the battle field. From among the masses a single cloaked creature stepped up and raising his arms every Orc fell quiet. An eerie silence followed. *That's the calm before the storm.* Aragorn couldn't help thinking, shifting uncomfortably, glancing repeatedly at the warriors and the scene in front of him. He had seldom seen the Orcs behave so disciplinedly and to follow another's orders so completely before. Only once, in fact, when they had been lead by the Nazgul. Looking uneasily at the cloaked figure in midst the beasts he found himself wondering and fearing the creature able to instil such a terror in the Orcs.
"Elves, surrender and we will promise you a swift and painless death." It cackled, a sound that send shivers down the spine of even the most battle-hardened warriors." Otherwise you will meet the same fate of your Lord. It was such a pleasure to hear him scream. Never heard a sweeter melody!"
His insides clenched with burning anger, and before thinking twice he yelled. "FIRE!" His order was echoed by about a dozen other Elvish voices quaking with the same hatred.
All hell broke loose. A hail of arrows greeted the hordes breaking against the walls of the city, but for every Orc slain three more took his place. Volley after volley was released, but soon the warriors were hard-pressed to reject the avalanche, and ladders were leaned against the walls, the creatures starting to spill over the ledge.
Screams of agony pierced the night, and the stench of blood and death hung heavily in the air.
Aragorn's sword seemed to have a life of his own, dancing forward and back, running through leather, slicing bone and flesh, the hilt was soon slick with the black blood of slain foes. He wielded it with a strength borne from wrath, and many Orcs screamed with fear and skittered away when confronted with the fire burning in the king's eyes. Not many lived to tell the tale.
Gimli and Aragorn fought side by side, each one guarding the other's back, but slowly they were driven apart by the sheer masses of opponents. An Elf collided heavily against Aragorn, throwing him to the ground. Eyes widened in horror locked with his before they glazed over. The Elf dropped down, a dagger protruding from his back.
Lying on the ground, Aragorn watched helplessly as an extremely large and nasty-looking Uruk-hai advanced on him, face drawn into a hideous leer. Obviously this one was a high-ranking officer, because once having been claimed by him as his own, the others retreated, occupying themselves with annoying the rest of the Elves. *Yes,* Aragorn grinned sarcastically, *leave the big bad bully all for me.* Desperately he scrambled to his knees, bringing up Anduril just in time to block the blow which would have neatly severed his head from his shoulders. The force of it drove him back to the ground, jarring his shoulder, sending jolts of pain through his arm.
Rolling sideways he evaded another thrust, and with a daring leap he was up again, only just avoiding the deadly blade, looking rather annoyedly at the large gash it left across his leather coat. "That was the finest leather of Rohan." He stated flatly, before lunging at the sneering Uruk-hai. Feinting to his right he thrust forward, but where he had hoped to bury his sword into flesh he suddenly sliced through thin air. Thrown out of balance by his own momentum he staggered forward, unable to reject his foe's swing, coming now from a completely unexpected corner.
Whether his attacker had been too eager to seize the opportunity quickly to aim properly, or whether Aragorn's stumbling had brought him out of the scimitar's path, he would never know, but the blade intended to slit his throat just glanced over his collar bone, leaving a nasty, if rather shallow gash across his upper chest and down his left arm.
White hot agony blazed over him, leaving him breathless. Spots started to dance in front of his eyes; he could feel the darkness tugging at the corners of consciousness. Struggling for air he knew that this distraction was his doom. He forced his eyes open, wanting to meet death face to face.
*****
A/N wouldn't that have been a nice place to leave the story... Quite a cliffie, don't you think? *ducks several blunt objects thrown in the writer's dierction* Oh, well, you disagree... *ducks lower* Okies, on with the story...
*****
But the blow never came. Blinking confusedly Aragorn stared at the bloody stump once raised to strike against him. He let his eyes slowly trail lower, resting on the rather smug-looking face of a certain dwarf.
"Lad, you're nearly as bad as that pointy-eared treehugger. One moment out of sight and you have nothing better to do than to get yourself killed."
Despite the pain a smile spread across his face. "Well, Elvellon, I think I was doing rather well. But you have always been such a spoil-sport. One moment later, and I would have been able to make another notch on my sword. Now you have addled my … "trailing off both watched with growing horror at the Uruk in front of them. It had not collapsed due to the loos of blood, not even swayed. it simply looked at them in a very annoyed fashion, whilst apparently waiting calmly for his arm to regrow. And regrow it did.
"What in Aule's name…" Gimli was cut off rather unpolitely with a vicious blow sending him flying like a doll.
"Blasted Dwarves. Nearly as annoying as those filthy Elves. But they will be next."
Startled out of his stupor by the chilling sound of the accursed creature's voice, Aragorn raised Anduril and rushed at it with an inarticulate cry, taking it by surprise. With a sickening crunch the head rolled off the body to his feet. He watched it with trepidation, expecting it to sprout a second head again in a few seconds, and jumped back in shock as both head at his feet and body turned into dust.
"Sweet Eru, " he murmured under his breath, "what was that?"
"Cant-ulûn! The Valar help us, there are cant-ulûn among them!" Someone yelled. Aragorn felt his blood turn into ice. How often had he listened to the tales in the Hall of Fire, sitting on his father's lap, the tales of the most terrible foes of the Firstborn, their hatred and their lust for death? Glorfindel himself had taught him everything about them, their history, their strengths, their weaknesses, their tactics and the battles fought against them. They had been thought dead, already few in number finally completely wiped out from Arda's face in the Last Battle along with their master, the Dark Lord. And now… Now they had returned, and the last pieces started to fall into place. Now it became clear what had succeeded to surprise Legolas' company, and why they had been defeated. The slaughter, the defiling of the corpses, even the Orc's compliance. Now there was an explanation for the many questions which had been nagging at their minds for the last week. The solution of the riddle was here, but instead of helping them, the solution only brought more fear and destruction.
How many were still out there? How many had not yet joined the battle? Enough to bring the Elves of Ithilien on the brink of destruction, that much was obvious.
Cries of fear and anger echoed through the darkness, and the battle accelerated its pace. Finally confronted with the enemy responsible for all their misery, the Elves fought even more furiously than before, desperately awaiting the call of the dawn. Slowly, nearly imperceptibly the tide of the battle started to turn towards more friendly odds.
Aragorn found himself cornered again by several Orcs, but he was too busy saving his hide to ponder if there were shape-shifters among his attackers. Metal clashed against metal, the sound ringing in their ears. HIdeous faces leered at his exhaustion, as he was slowly but steadily driven towards the ledge, and he could feel the weariness creeping into his bones; he was growing light-headed from the blood-loss, finding it harder and harder to remain standing or even keeping his eyes open. He wouldn't last any longer, and his thoughts strayed towards his son. Oh how he longed to hold him one last time, telling him how much he loved him, and asking forgiveness for striking him. He wanted his son to know how proud he was of him. And now he would see his son never again. He only hoped that the Captain might find an opppurunity to bring him to safety. Would Arwen ever forgive him?
Starting out of his reverie he was more than astounded to find himself bereft of opponents; they all lied sprawled on the ground, Elven arrows protruding from their backs.
A strong arm hauled him towards the stairs, and the last thing Aragorn saw before collapsing was the concerned face of Neviâth, the Captain of Eryn Feredron.
**********
TBC….
ACK! SO SORRY! I HAD PLANNED FOR THE REUNION TO TAKE PLACE IN THIS CHAPTER BUT IT IS ALREADY WELL OVER MIDNIGHT, AND I'M LEAVING FOR MY HOLIDAY… I WAS STUCK IN MIDDLE OF THE NOW FOLLOWING CHAPTER, UNABLE TO PROCEED, MY BRAIN WAS SIMPLY TOO BEFUDDLED. THE NEXT CHAPTER, HOWEVER IS NEARLY ALL WRITTEN; I WILL POST IT BETWEEN AROUND THE 25TH OF AUGUST, AS SOON AS I RETURN FROM MY VACATION…
MMHH…THREE WEEKS OF SUN, BEACH AND…AHHHH!!!!! NO INTERNET *breaks down sobbing* I CERTAINLY DON'T KNOW HOW AND *IF* I WILL BE ABLE TO HANDLE THIS…
The next chapter will be called "...FROM THE ASHES" and here Legolas will arrive at his city. But...What will he find? Will there be a reunion... or only another royal funeral? And what about Gimli? Stay tuned and find out on the 25th/ 26th of August...Mwahahahaahah
ONCE AGAIN, I'M SOOO SORRY FOR TAKING AGES TO UPDATE, ONLY TO LEAVE YOU WITH THIS CRAPPY CHAPTER… I THINK IT'S MY WORST ONE SO FAR… HOWEVER, I'D BE DELIGHTED IF YOU WERE SO KIND TO PRESS THAT LOVELY BUTTON DOWN HERE, AND LEAVE A REVIEW…
*pulls out golden chain and swings it in front of the reader's eyes* you will press the button, you will press the button, you will press the button…