Random Orcs, or We Fell to Middle Earth
Chapter Twenty-Four: Dropping the Other Shoe
by Galadriel Tolkien
There is a high possibility that I died there, between the open gates of the Morannon. I had certainly spent everything and more to restore Mordor to what it should have been.
I woke up feeling dead enough.
My first thought was that daisies should not smell like horse.
::Shut up. Be glad someone's watching your back. Altruistic idiot.::
My second was that Alayna sounded rather worried.
::Pippin's missing.::
That dragged me fully awake and I opened my eyes to late evening sunlight. I was lying where I'd fallen, my hand cramped tightly around my sword hilt. I hissed as I opened it, wondering if it would ever not hurt. ::Gonna miss that sword.::
::So pull it out.::
::Can't--part of the Trans-spell--it was all I had. In time no one will ever know it's here.::
::'k. Pippin.::
I reached for a stirrup and tried to stand.
Tried being the operative word.
Sickness wrapped around my stomach in a knot, and I curled around it, whimpering softly. ::Gonna haveta kneel.::
::Baby.::
::You try--fuck.:: I rolled, trying to get off my back, and onto my side as the contents of my stomach finished rebelling and crawled up my throat. I hit the daisies, but I guess they'll survive.
Alayna settled on my other side, grumbling. I wiped a sleeve across my mouth then scrambled into the saddle. Well. Sort of scrambled.
Once I was sort of secure, she stood. The world tilted alarmingly, and I closed my eyes. ::Where was he last?::
::This way.::
I felt her moving gently, and cracked one eye to watch. We were moving over the field, Alayna stepping daintily over dead bodies. There were apparently still small skirmishes going on here and there, but mostly there were people recovering from what had felt like certain death.
She stopped near the hill the commanders had been using. ::Here.::
I opened my eyes completely, wondering if I had a concussion, since the world seemed to come in more than one size. Bodies littered the ground around the hill. Mostly orcs, but also some of our men, a horse or two, and a cave troll. Its massive torso was split nearly in two where it lay. I stared at it, reaching out for that elusive 'Pippin' thread. "He's under the troll." I whispered, glad to find my voice still worked, even if I sounded horribly frightened.
Because there was no way in hell I was in any shape to remove the troll from my friend. And he was slowly dying underneath it.
A sound caused me to jerk to my right, and I nearly lost what was in my stomach--a lot of air. A soldier stood there, surveying everything around him. I didn't recognise his armour, but guessed him to be one of ours. Maybe one of the Prince's. "Hey."
He shot me a surly look, "Yes?"
"One of my comrades is buried beneath the carcass of this cave troll. Could you please find some help to retrieve him?"
"Why don't ye do it yourself?" He sneered. "All proud up on that unnatural beast."
"Because I will fall on my face and puke up the rest of my stomach contents if I try."
He snorted.
"Luthien!"
I turned, happy to hear a familiar voice. The sight of the elf was a shock, however. Legolas had fared as badly as I had, his clothing matted with blood and other things. A bruise surrounded his left eye, purpling beautifully. "Legolas."
"My lady, we feared for your demise."
"'Tis Pippin's I fear for." I pointed at the troll. "He's buried under that."
He nodded in understanding and called over his shoulder, "Friend Gimli, we have proud work for that axe of yours!"
Gimli set to with a will and shortly Pippin was freed. I was up to noticing more by then. The eagles had arrived while I'd been dead. In the distance, I recognised Gwahir and another carrying some small burdens towards us.
As they grew closer, I finally realised they were carrying two very small hobbits. And I wondered how much time I'd lost dead for the eagles to have been to Mount Doom and back.
Quite a bit, possibly.
It was over. Good had won.
I sat on Alayna's back, awaiting the inevitable gate that would suck us from this reality to the next.
But it didn't.
Instead, the wounded streamed in as Mordor grew daisies complaisently.
We repaired to Ithilien, fairly shortly. I'm still a bit unclear on that since I kept drifting in and out of consciousness. In Ithilien I felt safe enough, and I slept. Two days passed, during which I awakened for meals, ravishments of Gandalf, and baths. I love baths. They make me feel marginally clean.
On the second day, I awoke to find Sam nearby, watching me. "Hello, my friend." I sat slowly, still uncertain if the earth would swallow me whole if I wasn't careful.
"Marya." He seemed to want to say something, and then couldn't.
I stretched out a hand, "How are you?"
He shook his head, "There is... Gandalf told me to wake you, but I found I couldn't. You seemed so peaceful."
"Gandalf? What?" I winced as I moved to the edge of the bed, my body protesting this movement heartily.
"He said to tell you Phred is not doing well."
Phred. For a moment, my brain refused to even understand who that was. Then it did, and I cursed, standing and lurching over to the chair my robe was draped on. Sam blushed at my near-nudity, but I ignored him and swung the robe around myself. Grimly, I tied the sash. "Lead on, Sam."
He led me through the camp to the tent where the wounded were. I followed him inside to a bed. Phred lay on it, his brow slick with sweat. I swore softly, and dropped down next to him reaching out with healing senses that screamed at being used when I was still so magically blasted. He'd caught something large and sharp in his gut, but he was refusing to die. Bastard didn't want to. I understood this.
I considered the future as I held Phred's hand. As wounded as he was, he would get better. I'd seen it earlier, and I could see it now.
And, of course, I was reaching into him, reknitting his guts into something resembling normal. The fever I could do little about, since it was fighting off infection.
But, thirty years from now, he would be a bent old man. Eyes slowly going, hearing not what it was. And that persistent ache in his wrists would remind him of pulling string and loosing arrows, swinging a sword. Perhaps his knee would remind him of running down stairs to save Faramir's life.
And he'd have children grown, and grandchildren. Fat, happy, babies, smiling adults. They would listen in bemusement as he would try to explain the last War of the Ring.
Perhaps they might even understand the majesty and honour that had been bestowed on those who fought the great evil of Sauron. Perhaps they would be too complaisent.
I could not be sure.
Sadly, I let the vision go, and looked down at the hand I held. He would survive.
My idealism hadn't.
--
Phred got well, of course.
Eventually, there were feasts and celebrations. I was there, but puzzled, uncertain.
No nightmares plagued my dreams. And only visions of peace touched my days.
It was terribly disconcerting after the battles and I found myself grumbling about the lack of fighting to Gimli and Legolas.
The dwarf laughed. "Methinks you are bored."
"Well, yes." I tried to smile. "Idleness is... not my thing, really."
"Then come with us to the forests of Fangorn!" He offered, smiling.
"Perhaps." I sighed.
"You could reclaim Moria for the dwarves." Legolas suggested, watching me keenly.
I shuddered. "I believe it will be a very long time before I step foot in the Darrowdelf again. The things I saw there..."
The elf smiled, "Then just enjoy the rest, Lady Luthien."
"Marya, Legolas."
He nodded.
"I should hope I was Marya to everyone before I was Lady Luthien." I said softly, disturbed.
"You scare some, Marya." Gimli said, eyes sad.
"Ah." I smiled vaguely, fighting the incipient sadness. Why couldn't I have just left? Why torture me with this? "I'll see you later, gentle friends."
I was gone before they could answer.
Before I began crying.
--
Gandalf found me later that day. Not that it was hard, considering my drunken singing. I'd gone through five kegs, stealthily toted through the forest. I'd found a nice little nook three or four miles from the army. No one except a determined searcher could have found me.
Except for the singing.
Five kegs barely blunted me. I still ached, wishing I could run from it and lose myself in another world. And I couldn't. Because there was no portal yet, and I hadn't the strength to call one of my own.
Fate sucked.
"Ye iluve ohtacarnë?" He asked me gently.
I stared at him, then downed another glass. "Probably."
After all, it did indeed feel as if everything in my life was made war upon. Or maybe I just let myself feel too much.... And if I didn't, I felt too distant, too removed from life. There was no middle ground.
He took the mug from me, "Why?"
"I don't belong to this world. I shouldn't still be here." I attempted to take the mug back, and failed. "And it hurts to see friends fear me."
The mug was tipped back, and he swallowed. The he set it down and caught my hand as I reached for it. "I do not fear you."
"The crazy wizard doesn't fear me. That's very comforting."
He snorted. "You are being needlessly melodramatic."
"Says the White Wizard," I mocked dryly.
"Yes. He does." He caught my chin in one hand, forcing our eyes to meet. "You are the most remarkable woman--full of such courage and daring. And yet you loathe yourself."
I half-shrugged. "Comes with the territory of Most Powerful Idiot."
"Does it."
I tried to look away, but he held on. "There is such darkness inside of me. I fight it and lose--the glass in the Pelennor. Earlier, Helm's Deep..." Where I had truly lost the battle.
He shook his head, "You do not always have to fight."
"Yes I do. I once heard, 'with great power comes responsibility'. and it's a cliche, but it's TRUE. What if I pause, I stop. And I relent against that battle, and something happens?" I closed my eyes, shuddering at the images rioting through my brain. If Alayna hadn't talked me down at the Deep...
"Poppycock." There was something derisive in his voice. "You merely do this to feel better. Self-flagellation is your art. You depress yourself, therefore, you never fail your expectations, because they're always low."
I opened my eyes and blinked. "What?"
He released my chin and drew the last mug of ale. "Think about it."
"I have. That makes no sense."
"You have to be a wise Wizard to understand it fully," He replied loftily.
I snorted, "You...bastard." I glared at him, amused in spite of myself. "Pompous, too."
He tried looking injured, but the twinkle in his eyes gave him away. "You put too much on yourself, beloved."
I snorted again, and retrieved my ale.
"Now, come, I'm sure there are more pleasant pursuits than drinking yourself insensate."
"Really?" I arched an eyebrow at him.
His hand glided up my arm and he moved, busying himself with dotting kisses along my jaw. "Yes."
"Oh." He slid his free hand down the front of my tunic, and cold fingers played across suddenly interested nipples. "Oh! Yesss..."
--
Much will probably be written of the parties and celebrations which followed the defeat of Sauron. The people of Middle Earth were rejoicing in the new-found peace. I could agree with them to some extent. And so I drank and danced, in skirts loaned to me by the women of Minas Tirith. Green and gold, red and blue. I was a peacock among bluejays.
Oftentimes, I danced without Gandalf as he was busy doing Wizzardly things. Instead I partnered the men who had fought beside me, nearly spending their lives for this peace.
And the councils and discussions raged around us.
But Minas Tirith was a city of celebration, a festival of lights and colour and sound.
Not that it was all fun and games. There were prisoners of war to distribute. And, in the end, the men of the south were pardoned and sent off with trade offers and a full complement of diplomats. Someone had to start peace treaties, after all. And while they might not honour nor believe them, Gondor would stand by them.
I talked with some of the Haradrim, trying to reassure them--they rarely believed until I showed them some of the evil things Sauron had done. Repulsed they began to understand the great lie perpetuated upon them.
As easy as it seemed, I didn't think it would remain. Time would pass, complaisancy would breed suspicion.
And Gondor could find her borders threatened again.
But this was not my concern. I could feel the pull of other things. My time in Middle Earth was suddenly shortening. It made me sad, almost melancholy. To have known these great people and to be leaving them... I would miss them.
More time passed, the coronation of King Elessar (Aragorn, of course, had proven his mettle for this task) came and went. Arwen the Evenstar was bound to him for life... And it was eventually time for the hobbits to return to the Shire.
Restless, surprised I hadn't been dragged off yet, I asked Aragorn if there might be need of me in the north. He gladly accepted my help and appointed me temporary Ranger of the north. I would protect the Shire and the northern wastes. He took my service and pledged to send the Rangers after me when they were ready.
The party set out in late spring comprising of four hobbits, more elves than you can shake a stick at, a few humans, Gandalf, and me. At Rohan, Eomer left us to rebuild his people. Eowyn and Faramir had long since left this side of the Anduin for Ithilien where they were appointed its keepers. Apparently, in Aragorn's absence, Eowyn had fallen for Faramir. Smart girl.
At the pass to Rivendell, the elves separated. I actually hugged Elrond. I think I scared him.
By the time we reached Bree, I knew it was the end of my journey. I said farewell to the hobbits, and kissed Gandalf gently. I watched them ride down the road towards the Shire and felt a pang of regret.
If only I could have kept him with me...
Chapter Twenty-Four: Dropping the Other Shoe
by Galadriel Tolkien
There is a high possibility that I died there, between the open gates of the Morannon. I had certainly spent everything and more to restore Mordor to what it should have been.
I woke up feeling dead enough.
My first thought was that daisies should not smell like horse.
::Shut up. Be glad someone's watching your back. Altruistic idiot.::
My second was that Alayna sounded rather worried.
::Pippin's missing.::
That dragged me fully awake and I opened my eyes to late evening sunlight. I was lying where I'd fallen, my hand cramped tightly around my sword hilt. I hissed as I opened it, wondering if it would ever not hurt. ::Gonna miss that sword.::
::So pull it out.::
::Can't--part of the Trans-spell--it was all I had. In time no one will ever know it's here.::
::'k. Pippin.::
I reached for a stirrup and tried to stand.
Tried being the operative word.
Sickness wrapped around my stomach in a knot, and I curled around it, whimpering softly. ::Gonna haveta kneel.::
::Baby.::
::You try--fuck.:: I rolled, trying to get off my back, and onto my side as the contents of my stomach finished rebelling and crawled up my throat. I hit the daisies, but I guess they'll survive.
Alayna settled on my other side, grumbling. I wiped a sleeve across my mouth then scrambled into the saddle. Well. Sort of scrambled.
Once I was sort of secure, she stood. The world tilted alarmingly, and I closed my eyes. ::Where was he last?::
::This way.::
I felt her moving gently, and cracked one eye to watch. We were moving over the field, Alayna stepping daintily over dead bodies. There were apparently still small skirmishes going on here and there, but mostly there were people recovering from what had felt like certain death.
She stopped near the hill the commanders had been using. ::Here.::
I opened my eyes completely, wondering if I had a concussion, since the world seemed to come in more than one size. Bodies littered the ground around the hill. Mostly orcs, but also some of our men, a horse or two, and a cave troll. Its massive torso was split nearly in two where it lay. I stared at it, reaching out for that elusive 'Pippin' thread. "He's under the troll." I whispered, glad to find my voice still worked, even if I sounded horribly frightened.
Because there was no way in hell I was in any shape to remove the troll from my friend. And he was slowly dying underneath it.
A sound caused me to jerk to my right, and I nearly lost what was in my stomach--a lot of air. A soldier stood there, surveying everything around him. I didn't recognise his armour, but guessed him to be one of ours. Maybe one of the Prince's. "Hey."
He shot me a surly look, "Yes?"
"One of my comrades is buried beneath the carcass of this cave troll. Could you please find some help to retrieve him?"
"Why don't ye do it yourself?" He sneered. "All proud up on that unnatural beast."
"Because I will fall on my face and puke up the rest of my stomach contents if I try."
He snorted.
"Luthien!"
I turned, happy to hear a familiar voice. The sight of the elf was a shock, however. Legolas had fared as badly as I had, his clothing matted with blood and other things. A bruise surrounded his left eye, purpling beautifully. "Legolas."
"My lady, we feared for your demise."
"'Tis Pippin's I fear for." I pointed at the troll. "He's buried under that."
He nodded in understanding and called over his shoulder, "Friend Gimli, we have proud work for that axe of yours!"
Gimli set to with a will and shortly Pippin was freed. I was up to noticing more by then. The eagles had arrived while I'd been dead. In the distance, I recognised Gwahir and another carrying some small burdens towards us.
As they grew closer, I finally realised they were carrying two very small hobbits. And I wondered how much time I'd lost dead for the eagles to have been to Mount Doom and back.
Quite a bit, possibly.
It was over. Good had won.
I sat on Alayna's back, awaiting the inevitable gate that would suck us from this reality to the next.
But it didn't.
Instead, the wounded streamed in as Mordor grew daisies complaisently.
We repaired to Ithilien, fairly shortly. I'm still a bit unclear on that since I kept drifting in and out of consciousness. In Ithilien I felt safe enough, and I slept. Two days passed, during which I awakened for meals, ravishments of Gandalf, and baths. I love baths. They make me feel marginally clean.
On the second day, I awoke to find Sam nearby, watching me. "Hello, my friend." I sat slowly, still uncertain if the earth would swallow me whole if I wasn't careful.
"Marya." He seemed to want to say something, and then couldn't.
I stretched out a hand, "How are you?"
He shook his head, "There is... Gandalf told me to wake you, but I found I couldn't. You seemed so peaceful."
"Gandalf? What?" I winced as I moved to the edge of the bed, my body protesting this movement heartily.
"He said to tell you Phred is not doing well."
Phred. For a moment, my brain refused to even understand who that was. Then it did, and I cursed, standing and lurching over to the chair my robe was draped on. Sam blushed at my near-nudity, but I ignored him and swung the robe around myself. Grimly, I tied the sash. "Lead on, Sam."
He led me through the camp to the tent where the wounded were. I followed him inside to a bed. Phred lay on it, his brow slick with sweat. I swore softly, and dropped down next to him reaching out with healing senses that screamed at being used when I was still so magically blasted. He'd caught something large and sharp in his gut, but he was refusing to die. Bastard didn't want to. I understood this.
I considered the future as I held Phred's hand. As wounded as he was, he would get better. I'd seen it earlier, and I could see it now.
And, of course, I was reaching into him, reknitting his guts into something resembling normal. The fever I could do little about, since it was fighting off infection.
But, thirty years from now, he would be a bent old man. Eyes slowly going, hearing not what it was. And that persistent ache in his wrists would remind him of pulling string and loosing arrows, swinging a sword. Perhaps his knee would remind him of running down stairs to save Faramir's life.
And he'd have children grown, and grandchildren. Fat, happy, babies, smiling adults. They would listen in bemusement as he would try to explain the last War of the Ring.
Perhaps they might even understand the majesty and honour that had been bestowed on those who fought the great evil of Sauron. Perhaps they would be too complaisent.
I could not be sure.
Sadly, I let the vision go, and looked down at the hand I held. He would survive.
My idealism hadn't.
--
Phred got well, of course.
Eventually, there were feasts and celebrations. I was there, but puzzled, uncertain.
No nightmares plagued my dreams. And only visions of peace touched my days.
It was terribly disconcerting after the battles and I found myself grumbling about the lack of fighting to Gimli and Legolas.
The dwarf laughed. "Methinks you are bored."
"Well, yes." I tried to smile. "Idleness is... not my thing, really."
"Then come with us to the forests of Fangorn!" He offered, smiling.
"Perhaps." I sighed.
"You could reclaim Moria for the dwarves." Legolas suggested, watching me keenly.
I shuddered. "I believe it will be a very long time before I step foot in the Darrowdelf again. The things I saw there..."
The elf smiled, "Then just enjoy the rest, Lady Luthien."
"Marya, Legolas."
He nodded.
"I should hope I was Marya to everyone before I was Lady Luthien." I said softly, disturbed.
"You scare some, Marya." Gimli said, eyes sad.
"Ah." I smiled vaguely, fighting the incipient sadness. Why couldn't I have just left? Why torture me with this? "I'll see you later, gentle friends."
I was gone before they could answer.
Before I began crying.
--
Gandalf found me later that day. Not that it was hard, considering my drunken singing. I'd gone through five kegs, stealthily toted through the forest. I'd found a nice little nook three or four miles from the army. No one except a determined searcher could have found me.
Except for the singing.
Five kegs barely blunted me. I still ached, wishing I could run from it and lose myself in another world. And I couldn't. Because there was no portal yet, and I hadn't the strength to call one of my own.
Fate sucked.
"Ye iluve ohtacarnë?" He asked me gently.
I stared at him, then downed another glass. "Probably."
After all, it did indeed feel as if everything in my life was made war upon. Or maybe I just let myself feel too much.... And if I didn't, I felt too distant, too removed from life. There was no middle ground.
He took the mug from me, "Why?"
"I don't belong to this world. I shouldn't still be here." I attempted to take the mug back, and failed. "And it hurts to see friends fear me."
The mug was tipped back, and he swallowed. The he set it down and caught my hand as I reached for it. "I do not fear you."
"The crazy wizard doesn't fear me. That's very comforting."
He snorted. "You are being needlessly melodramatic."
"Says the White Wizard," I mocked dryly.
"Yes. He does." He caught my chin in one hand, forcing our eyes to meet. "You are the most remarkable woman--full of such courage and daring. And yet you loathe yourself."
I half-shrugged. "Comes with the territory of Most Powerful Idiot."
"Does it."
I tried to look away, but he held on. "There is such darkness inside of me. I fight it and lose--the glass in the Pelennor. Earlier, Helm's Deep..." Where I had truly lost the battle.
He shook his head, "You do not always have to fight."
"Yes I do. I once heard, 'with great power comes responsibility'. and it's a cliche, but it's TRUE. What if I pause, I stop. And I relent against that battle, and something happens?" I closed my eyes, shuddering at the images rioting through my brain. If Alayna hadn't talked me down at the Deep...
"Poppycock." There was something derisive in his voice. "You merely do this to feel better. Self-flagellation is your art. You depress yourself, therefore, you never fail your expectations, because they're always low."
I opened my eyes and blinked. "What?"
He released my chin and drew the last mug of ale. "Think about it."
"I have. That makes no sense."
"You have to be a wise Wizard to understand it fully," He replied loftily.
I snorted, "You...bastard." I glared at him, amused in spite of myself. "Pompous, too."
He tried looking injured, but the twinkle in his eyes gave him away. "You put too much on yourself, beloved."
I snorted again, and retrieved my ale.
"Now, come, I'm sure there are more pleasant pursuits than drinking yourself insensate."
"Really?" I arched an eyebrow at him.
His hand glided up my arm and he moved, busying himself with dotting kisses along my jaw. "Yes."
"Oh." He slid his free hand down the front of my tunic, and cold fingers played across suddenly interested nipples. "Oh! Yesss..."
--
Much will probably be written of the parties and celebrations which followed the defeat of Sauron. The people of Middle Earth were rejoicing in the new-found peace. I could agree with them to some extent. And so I drank and danced, in skirts loaned to me by the women of Minas Tirith. Green and gold, red and blue. I was a peacock among bluejays.
Oftentimes, I danced without Gandalf as he was busy doing Wizzardly things. Instead I partnered the men who had fought beside me, nearly spending their lives for this peace.
And the councils and discussions raged around us.
But Minas Tirith was a city of celebration, a festival of lights and colour and sound.
Not that it was all fun and games. There were prisoners of war to distribute. And, in the end, the men of the south were pardoned and sent off with trade offers and a full complement of diplomats. Someone had to start peace treaties, after all. And while they might not honour nor believe them, Gondor would stand by them.
I talked with some of the Haradrim, trying to reassure them--they rarely believed until I showed them some of the evil things Sauron had done. Repulsed they began to understand the great lie perpetuated upon them.
As easy as it seemed, I didn't think it would remain. Time would pass, complaisancy would breed suspicion.
And Gondor could find her borders threatened again.
But this was not my concern. I could feel the pull of other things. My time in Middle Earth was suddenly shortening. It made me sad, almost melancholy. To have known these great people and to be leaving them... I would miss them.
More time passed, the coronation of King Elessar (Aragorn, of course, had proven his mettle for this task) came and went. Arwen the Evenstar was bound to him for life... And it was eventually time for the hobbits to return to the Shire.
Restless, surprised I hadn't been dragged off yet, I asked Aragorn if there might be need of me in the north. He gladly accepted my help and appointed me temporary Ranger of the north. I would protect the Shire and the northern wastes. He took my service and pledged to send the Rangers after me when they were ready.
The party set out in late spring comprising of four hobbits, more elves than you can shake a stick at, a few humans, Gandalf, and me. At Rohan, Eomer left us to rebuild his people. Eowyn and Faramir had long since left this side of the Anduin for Ithilien where they were appointed its keepers. Apparently, in Aragorn's absence, Eowyn had fallen for Faramir. Smart girl.
At the pass to Rivendell, the elves separated. I actually hugged Elrond. I think I scared him.
By the time we reached Bree, I knew it was the end of my journey. I said farewell to the hobbits, and kissed Gandalf gently. I watched them ride down the road towards the Shire and felt a pang of regret.
If only I could have kept him with me...