A/N: Another chapter *sigh *. It seems like no matter what I do, no one is reading my story, except for JK and Lady of Legolas who (I'm sorry to say it) is somewhat getting on my nerves. She doesn't give constructive criticism, or comments, rather, she gives her own opinion of what should be done, as if she's the one writing Coruption, not me. I'm sorry if that offends you, Lady of Legolas, but that is how your reviews are coming across to me. But anyway, I hope that anyone who takes the time to read this, enjoys it, and PLEASE R&R!!!!!
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Get over it.
Warning: This chapter deals with very violent character death. If that is not your thing, skip the last paragraph and e-mail me. I will explain what happens. You need not suffer unnecessarily.
Chapter Twelve
It was a rather quiet night in Gondor. The winds had died down after many days and nights of thrashing rain and hail, and the air was now still, although just as deadly. It was easily many degrees below zero, and anyone caught out without proper clothing would quickly fall into the fatal sleep of death, lulled into the false pretense that the chill would fade in slumber. But sleep was far from the minds of those slinking through the fields along the River Anduin, a troupe of fifty moving at an alarming speed, quick, and silent. As they passed through a small farming village, they were nothing but shadows in the night, and anyone who looked out their window would have thought them spirits. Whatever tale they spread the next morning would be dismissed as a drunken stupor, and no one would think any more of the slippery shadows.
By day they resided in whatever trees they could find, slithering away into the branches like nimble cats, their feet making not a sound. If anyone passed underneath, they could hardly have known that nearly three score warriors were perched silently above them, and simply go on about their business like every other day.
The nearer they came to Minas Tirith, the quicker they moved, and it seemed that that would be their downfall. With speed, came carelessness, even in the minds of the most noble and wise of beings, minds which were focused on a single goal. It was that goal that had driven them so far, and it was that goal that would carry them to the bitter end, if for good, or ill. Every single one of them knew the risks they had taken, and had willingly given their very lives for a greater cause. They were loyal to their Prince, and would not see him suffer with the grievous deaths of his children. If they all died, they would pass on with the knowledge they had done all that they could do, nothing more, nothing less. But being so focused, they did not notice when they were spotted under the glare of the full moon by a simple farmer, their light hair and Elven cloaks easily identifiable in the milky light. The farmer rushed back to his house and said farewell to his wife and children, saddled up their only horse and galloped off to Minas Tirith with a message for the King.
It was painfully clear that he would get there first.
On the night they were under the shadow of Mindolluin, the troupe stopped for rest, having to settle with camping on open ground, as there were no trees in sight, at least not any large enough or in great enough number to accommodate them all. Their leader sat down on the well worn earth, gathering some sticks together and striking a small fire. Another rested beside him, and together they stared into the tiny blaze, the dancing flames reflected in their ageless eyes.
"We are close," Haldir said softly, prodding the fire with another small stick. "I would guess by tomorrow we will be running on the Pelennor fields, as you once did Legolas."
The Elven prince sighed heavily, seeming old for the first time in his many thousand years. There was a great worry in his eyes, a feeling of unease that he could not shake easily. He knew his children were in grave danger, but so far, he had done nothing but sit back and blindly believe that they would triumph. Legolas would never forgive himself if he had come too late, waited too long. He did not think he could bare to see the pain and agony in Bren's eyes if she were to hear news of her children's demise. That would be too much.
"I only hope we are not too late," he whispered, voicing his troubled thoughts. "For I cannot help but think that we are…."
Haldir lay a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder, trying to push the thoughts of Eomynne lying dead at Eldarion's feet from his mind. He wanted to say that they were not too late, but he did not know that for certainty. They could have very well been dead weeks before, and their troupe was doing nothing but marching to their own deaths.
"Tomorrow will hopefully bring better things," Haldir said quietly, standing up and striding off to his bedroll. He waited until he knew Legolas would not care to listen, before adding to himself, "and with it, greater dangers."
The rest of the group were soon settled, and after a time, Legolas snuffed the fire and lay down. As he closed his eyes, he thought he could hear Eomynne laughing, her carefree voice carried on the wind, the ones of her brothers mingling with its fair sound.
If they were lucky, it would not be only a memory.
The rider reached Minas Tirith just as dawn was stretching its bright fingers across the sloping fields, turning the grass a bright emerald which shimmered with morning dew. The first circle opened at his arrival, and the guards only nodded briefly in his direction. They knew this man well. He often came with his family during the trading and market season, his carts loaded with animal hides and crops from his fields. He was an honorable and respected man, who was openly on Eldarion's side in their war with the Elves. They knew he would not cause trouble, so let him pass without stopping for inspection.
The man rode through the first circle at an alarming speed, then stabled his horse in a building near the gates of the second circle before continuing up the next level. Crowds parted as he dashed through the marketplace, his cloak rippling fiercely behind him, and they wondered what a good man such as him would be doing creating such a ruckus. The look of utmost urgency on his face left no room for argument that he would stop for such simple things as making his way politely amongst the cobblestone streets. The people of Gondor rarely saw such people, though on those occasions the runner was usually a bearer of bad news or an important message for the King.
The man did not stop running until he reached the seventh gate, and it was there that he was met with opposition. A trio of men-at-arms approached him, their helms gleaming in the morning sun. Their faces were weary and drawn, their eyes rimmed with dark circles. It seemed as if they were close to being relieved, and had not yet been granted sleep that night. The symbol of the white tree was on their shields, and the man could not help but feel his eyes drawn to the powerful picture, his heart soaring at the sight of it. He had been young when Sauron the Deceiver had come close to gaining the One Ring, and he knew the fear all of Middle Earth had once lived in, the darkness that had sent many a man cowering under its evil influence. He had been one of the countless number that had welcomed the rein of King Elessar with joyful hearts. Even after so many years, he could not help the powerful emotion that swept over him when his eyes would see the white tree.
"Who comes before the Citadel?" one of the three men asked firmly, although his strong voice wavered with exhaustion.
"I am Valius," the man said in return, still slightly breathless after his trek up the seven levels. "I seek council with the King. I bear important news of the Ardarauko."
All three shuddered at the mention of the Elves, looks of disgust briefly overshadowing their weariness. They shared a quick word, then the smaller of the three swept through the seventh gate, ascending the stairs that would lead to the Citadel. Valius shifted from foot to foot, eager to give his message and return home. He knew that this news would aid his King, and was glad for it. Valius had done much to gain favor with Eldarion, to show his unfailing loyalty, and this would bring him up farther in the eyes of his King, which would in turn bring more honor to his family. His father, who had fought valiantly defending Gondor, would be proud of him, which brought a wistful smile to his lips. It was unfortunate that Valian, his father, had succumbed to his ailment, his body sagging with disease and rot. It had been a painful journey for both father and son, and Valius was glad that his father was now free of pain.
It was quite some time before the small guard appeared again at the gates, and told Valius that he would be granted an audience with Eldarion. Valius nodded gratefully to him, then was escorted by another pair of men up the grand staircase to the Citadel high above. Once they were inside the palace, Valius was left by his escort and taken by yet another set of two through the winding halls and corridors until they approached a large, open conference room. Valius was ushered in, then left alone. He approached the long table hesitantly, noting that the King was already seated, scribbling quickly on a piece of parchment. Hearing him enter, Eldarion's sharp gray eyes flicked up, and Valius lowered his own gaze respectfully, staring at the marble floor, waiting until he was bade step forward. He noted, oddly enough, that the sheen of marble directly underneath his feet was tinged slightly red, and he scuffed his boot against the smooth surface, surprised that it flaked away easily.
"Valius, son of Valian, you have news for your King?"
Eldarion's silky voice caused Valius to glance up sharply, giving a quick nod in agreement. Eldarion leaned back in his chair then spread his arms wide, a small grin dancing on his lips.
"Then speak."
Valius cleared his throat.
"Last night, as I was coming in from the barn, I saw something." He paused, playing nervously with a stray thread on his jacket. "I saw a group of what seemed to be men running across my fields. They were quick, and silent, and almost invisible, and I thought them nothing more than a trick of my eyes until they stepped under the light of the moon, and I saw what they truly were…."
Eldarion raised one elegant eyebrow, clearly intrigued.
"They were Ardarauko," Valius whispered. "It was undeniable. Men of Gondor, nor any among the Rohirrim wear clothing such as theirs. They were slender and very tall, and had long, light hair. I did not see their deformed ears, but from what I did see, I had evidence enough. I came here to warn you, my King, that they are headed in the direction of Minas Tirith. I feared that they were on a mission of assassination perhaps…..and I knew that I was bound by my loyalty to Gondor to bring this news to you."
A calculating look suddenly appeared in Eldarion's steely gaze, and his mouth became a set, firm line, all trace of his earlier grin gone.
"How far?" he asked, holding his quill above the paper.
"Nearly ten leagues."
"How many?"
Valius thought hard, trying to remember their number. "Three score I would say. Quite a few, though slippery as eels for such a group. It is astounding that I spotted them at all….."
"Did they hold weapons?" Eldarion cut in, not patient enough to hear the rest. "Bows? Swords?"
Valius sighed. "I could not see from the distance, though I am sure they had bows. Maybe a sword or two among them, though to have spotted any blades, concealed or no, would have been a task for one of their kind."
Eldarion nodded, noting the information.
"Did they have any distinguishable features? Did they carry a banner, or a shield with a symbol?"
Valius shook his head. "No. It seemed like they carried only what they would need for a short while. It was certainly nothing of the military sort. They wore no armor, and carried no banners. Nothing but their weapons and the cloaks on their backs. Seemed more like militia in my opinion."
Eldarion nodded again, writing a few more things before rising and leaving the room for a moment. Valius waited patiently until he returned, no longer holding the piece of parchment, an appreciative smile lighting his handsome features.
"You have done your country and your King a great service indeed, Valius son of Valian." He said, clapping Valius on the shoulder. "You will be rewarded greatly. Expect to see more livestock on your fields and food in your storehouse. This will not be forgotten."
Valius smiled in return, bowing low.
"Verily, my Lord, I do not deserve such good graces. It is truly an honor to serve you."
With a last hasty bow, he was gone from the room, and Eldarion sagged back against the lip of his desk, arms folded stiffly across his broad chest. The smile on his face was nothing but a distant memory now. His lips were pressed together in a severe line, making the small frown line between his eyes appear.
"So, Legolas Thranduillion, you come for your children," he whispered savagely, picking up a glass paper weight and throwing it against the wall with surprising force. The broken fragments fell to the floor in a glittering shower, and he laughed, his ice gray eyes spitting fire.
"The time has finally come for you to receive what you are due, Elven Prince."
Like one drowning in the merciless grips of the ocean, Eomynne struggled to the surface of consciousness, her limbs weighed down by sluggishness and fatigue. One by one, her senses returned, and as she opened her eyes, the dawn light spilling through her open window blinded her like a burning brand. She gave a muffled cry of exclamation, trying to raise her left arm but finding she could not. It resisted, and a white hot jolt of agony sliced through her, causing a hoarse shriek to fly from her dry, scratchy throat.
Moaning softly, she rolled onto her side, cradling the broken limb with a careful hand.
Her mind took some time catching up, and it was a while before she began to wonder exactly how long she had been in the drug induced sleep, plagued by hellish nightmares of men with evil eyes and evil smiles. She strained her ringing ears for sounds of someone in her room, but even when she heard nothing she still hesitated in sitting up, shading her eyes from the early morning sun.
The room around her was the same as ever. She could still see a small spattering of blood beside the bed, and suppressed a shudder. How long ago had that been? A day? A week? A month? There was no way to tell how long she had lain, nursing her injured arm. It was a frightening thought, to know how much she might have missed in the comforting embrace of sleep, and she might as well have been awake the entire time for all the good it did her. She felt hollow, dry and empty as a husk. The aftereffects of Caelan's remedy left her with a sensation of restlessness and important things not done. It was bothering, and made her curiously disoriented, wondering what exactly that she hadn't done that needed to be attended to. She knew there must be something, but just couldn't seem to determine what.
Flexing her protesting fingers and toes, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and slowly stood, leaning hesitantly against one bed-post for support. The room she had at some point begun to regard with familiarity was the same as it had always been, bathed in afternoon light and chilled with the winter's biting breeze. She raised her remaining hand up to her eyes, noting the dried blood and dirt inhabiting the space under her chipped nails. Without thinking, she lowered the hand into a waiting basin of warm water that had been placed on her bedside table, swirling it around slowly. There was a birdcall outside the window, answered by another further away.
Careful to keep her injured arm from straining itself, she dressed slowly, pulling on the yellow dress she had worn to the ball, her only article of clothing besides her Elven tunic, which was tucked away safely for when she might need it. Unable to button up the back, she left it undone and sat back on the bed, working the tangles from her mud-caked hair with careful fingers. She was half-finished thumbing absently through Aragorn's journal when there was a brisk rap on her door. Rising cautiously, she approached the battered door and lay her hand on the knob, wondering if she should answer. Before she could decide however, she was thrown aside as it was forcefully opened and landed hard on her backside, knocking her skull against the wall. Fighting the sudden dizziness, she looked up, and met the heated gaze of Eldarion.
"It seems you have finally decided to wake up," he said, twirling what looked suspiciously like a sheathed dagger between his hands. "Care for a ride?"
Eomynne somehow worked up enough saliva to spit on his finely polished boot, cursing vehemently.
"I would rather swim in boiling oil," she hissed, feeling the rage rip through her in a surprisingly satisfying way.
He merely smiled at her.
"Well then, we shall see what we can do about that,"
Without so much as a by-your-leave, he reached down and pulled her up, throwing a heavy brown cloak she hadn't noticed into her hands and dragging her out the door. She stumbled after him, trying to regain her balance and fight the dizziness at the same time, nearly falling over as he turned a corner sharply.
"Where are we going?" she asked breathlessly, struggling to hold the heavy cloak in one hand. "Where are you taking me?"
"You will see soon enough," Eldarion said coldly
Eomynne's stomach gave a nervous lurch, followed closely by another wave of dizziness. She closed her eyes tightly, clenching and unclenching her fists.
Domic met them outside the ninth gate, with Caelan and another man standing to his right. All three were dressed in battle attire, large swords swinging at their hips and bows slung over their backs. The sight of them, dressed as they were with the white tree gleaming on their breastplates, made Eomynne supremely anxious. She pressed her hand firmly over her breast where the picture of three stars were sewn into her tunic, running her fingers slowly over the embroidery as if to gain courage from it. She'd sewn it on to the tunic the day before they left the Haven, three bright stars to represent Caelidur, Elleduil, and herself. It had served as a constant reminder to all that she had, and all that she could lose, but at that moment she needed it for strength. Like the stars hang fixed in the sky, so do we stand firm, she thought, hearing the memory of Elleduil's voice in her mind, we will sooner die than fall under the will of another.
"Follow me."
Eldarion's voice was suddenly loud in her ear, and she jumped, looking at him with frightened eyes. She didn't move.
"I said follow me!" he growled, taking her arm to pull her after him.
He led her through the ninth gate, Domic, Caelan and the third man following behind, and then down the next eight levels until they were just before the first gate into Gondor. There they stopped outside the royal stables, the white tree painted bright upon the lintel, and went inside. Eomynne waited close by while a young boy and his father saddled the horses and brought them around to where they were standing. Domic, Caelan, and the third man, who's name was soon revealed to her as Essien, mounted their respective horses, while Eldarion pulled her up in front of him on his before she had time to protest. The gate was opened before them, and then they were on the field.
Eomynne lost track of time as they rode, closing her eyes against the harsh wind that whipped against her and sent her long hair into a flurry. Eldarion kept his arms tight about her the whole while, his fingers white where they gripped the reins and his chest firm against her back. She tried to ignore the feeling of his smooth face so close to hers, but could not. Inside she was quaking with fear.
The ground rose up steadily as they went, until they crested the hill and stopped, the horses snorting and stamping their feet. Below them, the ground dipped sharply into a barren valley, and as Eomynne looked closer, she gasped aloud, moaning in agony.
The shapes she had at first mistaken for trees were in fact moving, and for the first time in her life, she cursed her far-reaching sight. At the front of the small group, were two blonde heads, ones that she knew only too well.
No, she thought desperately, her heart bleeding, No. Why did they come? Why must they be so foolish? Oh father, Haldir, friends! You must not sacrifice yourself for us!
Eldarion sensed her dismay and leaned closer, his breath hot on her chilled face.
"Do you know them?" he asked her tauntingly, chuckling. "Do you? Answer me!"
Eomynne could do nothing but nod, tears overflowing her eyes and making her throat constrict.
"As I suspected," Eldarion said, and made a flicking motion with his hand behind her back which she did not see. One of the men abruptly turned his horse and cantered off. Eomynne twisted on the saddle to see who, but Eldarion grabbed her roughly by the shoulder and forced her back around. He said nothing, but tightened his grip.
There was a long period of silence. The three of them waited on the crest of the hill, and Eomynne's eyes were fixed on the group as they got closer and closer. She knew that even with their Elven sight they would not see them where they were perched. The ridge was dotted with clusters of thickly branched trees, in which their group was carefully concealed, and it would take more than just a perfunctory glance by a scout in the valley below to reveal their location.
Eomynne was just about to open her mouth and ask Eldarion what they were waiting for, when her keen ears heard suddenly the distant thunder of hooves upon the earth, and she knew.
The troupe heard the approaching army before they came into view. They drew bows and daggers, unsheathing long swords from their belts and making ready their shields. Eomynne wanted to sob with fury. They could not know the number which approached. They had no idea what they were up against. She knew with a painful clarity that there was no helping them now.
Like the dawn breaking, the Gondorian army rose into view on the hill, banners streaming behind them and helms gleaming in the midday sun. With a mighty roar, they descended, horses charging and swords held high into the air, and the dirt swirled into a choking cloud that floated languidly behind them as they passed. They were two hundred strong, not even a third of the entire army, and Eomynne could virtually feel the Elves' fear as death flew towards them. She watched with tear blurred eyes as the two forces clashed, the screams of men dying and the sounds of metal upon metal infusing the air with a twisted symphony of war. Her own ragged, hoarse sobs were drowned out by the cacophony of noise.
Haldir and her father fought like men possessed, bows twanging as arrows were released and daggers flashing in a tornado of carnage. One by one the Gondorian men fell at their hands, though Eomynne did not go so far as to feel even a twinge of hope in her heart. What was a dozen men when two hundred were behind them? The odds were horribly not in their favor. She tried to think of turning away on Eldarion's horse once the last Elf had fallen, knowing that her father, and Haldir, and countless others were dead, but it was impossible. The thought of that did not make any sense. How could she ever be alive when they were gone?
For one clear moment, she saw Haldir break free of the melee, his chest heaving and face smeared with dark blood and dirt, and the most overwhelming sensation consumed her. It felt like her heart were being ripped in two, veins and arteries snapping, flesh tearing. She'd never known a feeling like it, even when her brothers had been taken from her and she'd entertained the thought of never seeing them again. That was nothing compared to the burning agony in her chest, the grief, the pain of knowing that she might never hear his voice again, so smooth and languid like a cool summer's day, might never feel his gentle hands encompass hers in friendly affection, or see his ageless eyes look at her with calm compassion and understanding. And it was then that she saw Domic draw his bow, slowly pulling the string taut, one arrow quivering in his steady grip.
"Haldir!!"
The noise, the scream, came from the very depths of her being, rose like a mighty wave ready to break upon the shore, carrying with it all the pain and suffering she had endured at Eldarion's hand in the hope of seeing Haldir again, all the memory and emotion, and burst from her throat as if thrown from the caverns of hell itself. It rang out across the valley, over the noise of battle and the horses' hooves, echoing clear and bright.
But it was too late.
He heard her scream of warning, but there was no time to move. She saw his face, so utterly beautiful, twist into a look of surprise, and then fear. She saw her father drop his weapons and make a desperate dash to where Haldir was standing paralyzed in shock, and then the arrow hit its mark.
The next moments were like a horrible dream.
Haldir fell, his limbs twisting and flailing, one hand clenched around the arrow shaft, bloodied and mangled from battle. Legolas fell beside him, his arms reaching out to hold Haldir close to him, his voice screaming with rage and mourning. Eomynne broke free of Eldarion's grip and vaulted off the horse, running from the men and down the hill, stumbling and falling as her foot snagged on an unnoticed rock. She struggled to get to her feet, but her momentum carried her nearly all the way down, and when she finally landed with a crunch that broke her arm anew, she looked up and her eyes saw a sight that would stay with her forever.
Legolas, kneeling on the trampled grass with Haldir's body clutched desperately against his chest, raised his head to scream. He had barely drawn breath when a man ran up behind him, sword held high. There was a moment of complete and utter silence, and then the blade came down, flashing like a burst of fire, and cleaved Legolas' head clean from his shoulders. His body slumped backwards and fell to the earth as if in slow motion, stirring a cloud of dust, and lay still.
Eomynne turned, vomited, and knew no more.
A/N: Brutal. I know. I do not mean to make any of you angry, for this must be a grievous sin in the eyes of Legolas fan-girls. I will not say why I do this, for that if for me to know, and you to never find out. This chapter was a long time in coming, and while I acknowledge that this was a bit much, I hope I do not disappoint. To lessen the blow, I will tell you that Haldir is not dead, yet. I am unsure as to what I'm going to do to him, so nothing is set in stone. Remember though, HE IS NOT DEAD. I know that this probably doesn't mean anything because Legolas IS dead, but please, do not flame me. You must understand that I made this decision for the sake of the story. Please REVIEW, and tell me what you think.